The Unknown Witness
by athena-arena
Summary: What if, when Sirius was framed for murder, there was a witness who'd seen the truth? A muggle who held the key to Sirius' freedom? Well now it's time for her to speak out. She is the unknown witness, and it's not just Harry and co. who are tracking her d
1. Prologue

A/N: Hey! Welcome to The Unknown Witness! What lies ahead is chapter upon chapter of murder and mayhem, chaos and conspiracy, drama, suspense and tuna sweet corn sandwiches. This is a Drama/Action/Adventure Rated PG-13 for Language and Violence in the later chapters. Ooer. Read and Review please darlings!

Disclaimer: The universe of Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling, and is used here without her permission. I acknowledge that I have no rights to any cannon characters, settings or events mentioned. I have no intention and no desire to make profit from this piece, as the credit deserves to go to JK Rowling as she invented them and thus owns all rights to them. Not me. Got it? Good. Onwards!

**The Unknown Witness**

**Prologue**

It was just an ordinary day. She rarely got the chance to go to London, especially that time of year. The 'leaves on the line' excuse for a train delay was normally in its element. She got on board at Rochester, and as usual she gazed across the valley as they crossed the Medway River in the early autumn light, the sun reflecting off the silently moving water. The castle's empty shell high on the riverbank was casting a daunting shadow over the centre of the city as we crossed the estuary. As she sat back in her uncomfortable seat, she never believed it would be the last time she saw it.

The capital city of Great Britain, the United Kingdom, Ye olde England. It always seemed to be viewed as such a cliché by outsiders. An ancient place of history and tragedy, the British race seemed to bepersonified in its concrete tower blocs and Victorian terraces, rigid in their views and traditions. The strong upper lip could be found in abundance among the patrons of the quaint pubs and hotels right across the city. That's the London for tourists. She could never understand how they managed it, trying to see the city from atop their open buses, on tours given in every language known to man while dodging the congested streets infested by cockroach black cabs - all out to make a quick profit. That wasn't her London. Her London existed in the back streets.

She'd headed to a little area off Covent Garden that day, a series of specialist shops that few knew about, almost acting as the gathering place for all that was unconventional. Tiny outlets selling vegan cuisine to suit every taste, grey haired women with a thousand trinkets selling crystals and oils to soothe away all ills, unusual bookshops catering tothe most unusual request. This was her London. The remains of the satisfaction it brought were manifested in the empty take away packages that spilled from the dustbins, disturbed by the scavenging of the city's lovablestray. They too were part of the character of the district that remained isolated from the tourist trap that was Covent Garden. She used to live up here when she worked in the city; a little bit of eccentricity in the middle of the madness never did anyone any harm. Until that day.

The scavenging animals were there as usual. Her tuna and sweet corn roll bought from Louis on the Italian snack stand seemed to lack its usual attraction, her appetite lessening dramatically with every mouthful as she sadly nibbled at its edges. She would recall at a later date that her stomach must have known something her mind remained in blissful ignorance of. She sat on a bench in the centre of the quad,a merging of four or five streets a little way off from Neal Street, where cars were less common and benches were aplenty. She'd had a successful morning. Indulgence in the tools of alternatives, from meditation to divination, always seemed to offer the escape from reality she always sought when stuck in the stuffy office in the upper reaches of Whitehall. Pigeons were picking at her feet as the crumbs descended to the ground, scattering occasionally as someone approached their safe haven. She couldn't understand anyone wanting to rid London of these amusing creatures, especially from Trafalgar Square. So what if they shat on Nelson's head? That only summed up the general feeling of pessimism that was abundant in the country since the decline of the empire. Rule Britannia still got them singing in their droves. Land of Hope and Glory. Jerusalem. The only situation where the cliché seemed to fit. 

The pigeons scattered once again as something else made its approach. A dog, looking as if he'd been dragged backwards through a bush settled down underneath the bench. Cowering almost;expectant. It began to whine. Making sure Louis wasn't looking, she tore off half her lunch andtucked it under the seat like a back hand deal. She sat up as the black beast devoured it in three large gulps. It was as if the rogue hadn't eaten for days. The dog was content for a minute, gradually emerging from his hiding place and sitting in front of her, head a little raised as an act of pride and defiance against whatever the world was about to throw at him. She rubbed his head fondly, ignoring the possibilities of rabies and whatnot from an animal living on the street. His matted fur felt cold against her skin as the beast closed his eyes for an instant. If she hadn't known better, she could have sworn he was smiling. He lay again at her feet, his head resting upon his giant-like paws as he followed her gaze down the street. A moment of pure contentment fell across them both, just for that instant. 

Then, just as suddenly as he appeared,the dog belted to his feet, an evil snarl now adorning his face as a crowd surged into the quad. He began to growl; a deep noise of anger and outrage seemed to cross the animal's face as the crowd began to disperse. But she was running late. She was meeting a friend for coffee. She shot the dog an apologetic look as she turned to place her purse back in her shopping bag. She didn't notice him scamper away. She presumed later that he must have done, because the next moment he was gone, despite her attempts to spot the matted coat amongst the crowd. 

For standing, almost in the exact place the dog had sat, was a man. His own dark hair was matted and messed up, a glint in his shining, sunken eyes seemed to prepare them for an imminent darkness that would overshadow them in the events of the next few seconds. Perhaps they were darkening for her. The man turned on the spot, grasping something tightly in the pocket of his jacket as he appeared to swallow a lump in his throat. She was mesmerised by his presence, a presence that seemed as daunting as the empty shell of the Norman castle out of the train window. He looked at her long and hard. In the briefest of moments, a million emotions shot across his face, the last face she would see. It ranged from the deepest grief to the ripest anger in a flicker of a single instant, distraught. His brow was furrowed in some form of deep concentration, gearing himself up for whatever task lay ahead within the crowd. Then he walked away.

The next few seconds seemed to last an eternity as the mysterious man crossed the quad, those darkening, soulful eyes now focused on his target. A short, rounded man with a shifty expression was standing with his back against the corner of the building as if he was a couple of stories up and about to take a flying leap. They conversed for a minute or two, her anonymous companion dominating the conversation, the other man looking more and more frantic as the dark-haired man edged closer. The exchange was taking place through gritted teeth, the dark-haired man shaking with visible anger edging on uncontrollable hysteria as his large, strong shoulders shook with the effort of self-control. She caught little of their conversation - words like traitor, broken, lies and death - but she didn't need to know the details. For once in her life, her sight was enough. The rounded man had done wrong and was about to face to consequences.

Suddenly, the situation changed: The dark haired man let out a howl of rage as he shoved his companion up against the wall, easily daunting his wimp-like figure;She began to edge off the bench. This was going to get nasty, but no one else seemed to notice. Surprisingly,the smaller man had a sudden surge of energy, pushing himself free of the other man's vice-like grip and edging back into the middle of the quad. The next words were vital to the plot.She stared at the black haired man left standing on the pavement, as he paled at the following accusation.The shrill voice that now cut through the mild autumn air would, to the casual observer, seemedgenuine enough.The right amount of emotion was present to gain a realistic reaction and a positive belief. But all it took from her was one uncertain glance at the dark-haired man to see the dark nature of the manipulation that was about to occur. 

'Lily and James, Sirius! How could you!' 

The next pictures, the final ones to be processed in her mind, were slowed and dazed to such an extent that no one would believe her. Not the doctors, the police, her friends who helped with her long, slow rehabilitation. It was her imagination playing tricks on her, so they said. Magic wasn't real. People couldn't turn into animals. And you certainly couldn't blow a street apart with the force of a small army shell with a piece of painted wood.

But that was exactly what had happened. Just as her dark-haired stranger pulled out his elaborately polished stick and held it in front of him like he was brandishing a sword in battle, she glanced at his threatening enemy, holding his own weapon behind his back, pointing toward the street a few feet away. He muttered something in Latin. The memories she held only remembered the moving of his thin, pale lips as he uttered those fatal words. Then the world exploded.

Gas explosion. That was the official verdict. A ruptured pipe far below the street had its contents ignited by an anonymous spark, sending debris flying everywhere and covering her in scars she would never see. Such an explanation was far from adequate. It didn't explain the cause of her blindness. It didn't explain the light.

It was like staring at the centre of the sun. The blazing glow at first was completely dazzling, as she was knocked backward off the bench by the blast, the wind rustling her hair as the fall out past over her body. She couldn't close her eyes even if she'd wanted to. They were stuck rigid as the light painfully pierced them. She could feel her retina burning as she howled with the pain, tears failing to cool the fire that was erupting behind her pupils, darkened forever more.

The last thing she heard before passing out, as her brain began to scream out in the agony the loss of one of her vital senses caused, was a laugh. Not a laugh filled with happiness at a job well done, not at the satisfaction of the destruction caused, but the laugh of the dark haired man. She could imagine it, as if that image had been burned on her memory forever, etched into her skin as a reminder of how he'd been betrayed. It was the laughter of a man driven to the edge. A man who knew, in that instant, that he'd lost everything. A laugh at the cruel fate the world had awarded him. And as she felt the movement of a deserting rat across her feet, she would have sworn that underneath it all, there was the inner howling of the blackened, stray dog.

***


	2. Memories and Mysteries

The Unknown Witness: Part 1

A/N: Well, you asked for it! I'm warning that this may take sometime, but I'll plod on nevertheless. The unknown witness has never forgotten that day. She remains the key to Sirius' freedom. But will she be found? DUM DUM DUM! Read on, review and you'll see! Go on, you know you want to. And I'm sorry about Harry chucking up. I think you'd do the same considering the situation!

Dis: The universe of Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling, and is used here without her permission. I acknowledge that I have no rights to any cannon characters, settings or events mentioned. I have no intention and no desire to make profit from this piece, as the credit deserves to go to JK Rowling as she invented them and thus owns all rights to them. Not me. Got it? Good. But I own any original characters.

****

The Unknown Witness

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Memories and Mysteries

****

July 1993

She lay there sweating again. The image of her dream was the closest her mind ever got to any form of visual reality. She would see the same scenes over and over, childhood sights interspersed with adult glimpses. A teddy bear left abandoned in the middle of the road, a birthday party, balloons and streamers, pigtails and hopscotch. Her office, her reflection in the mirror, always frozen twelve years previously, never to age. The estuary from the train. Her London. Then the dream shifted, as it always did. To a man with gleaming red eyes, evil to the bone. A family destroyed. A friend. A traitor. A dark-hared man on the brink of insanity. The dog star.

She sat up and gasped, feeling in the darkness for her bed lamp as her eyes developed into a feeble attempt at focus. They were soon defeated. Her mind was met with a whitish blur; the most minuscule of outlines inhibited her ability to have the independence she used to thrive on. The images had been slow to start with; her familiar memories warm and comforting like a blanket of smooth summer air. Then came the visions. People she didn't recognise - implanted in her brain without her consent - had invaded the privacy normally reserved for her bouts of insomnia. She'd grown to accept their presence, almost feeling as if they memories belonged to her. She could never name the characters, the panic she felt alongside them as that final flash of white faded to the deepest shade of green. She sighed wearily. They were gone for now. She reached out for her old-fashion alarm clock, feeling its metallic arms of an indication of time. Half past six. Time to start the longest of days.

This was how her life had been for twelve years. Over a decade of bumping into lampposts, as she often liked to put it. For Claudia Darlington was always one to make a joke of the worst possible situation. She was content to be the dude in the sunglasses, wearing them indoors like a Hollywood glamour puss, when asked for their presence upon her pale and dominating face a mere peer over the top of the rimless lenses were enough to quieten even the most harsh of critics. For it would have seemed that whatever blinded her - the debris of the gas explosion if the police were to be believed - robbed her eyes of any colour, depth and to the casual observer, emotion. For the blue iris around her pupils had faded, like a sheet of writing left out in the sun, neglected for years on a forgotten windowsill, ice-like framed by long dark lashes that forever trapped the snow. She liked her eyes. She never saw them of course, but the reaction they got surpassed any sensual boundary. The intake of breath, and shifting in the seat that indicated the strong desire to stare. Let them, she always thought to herself, smiling a little in the process. It's not at all likely that she'd really know the difference.

Claudia hadn't always been in her present frame of mind. It had taken time, patience and the downright embodiment of a saint on the behalf of her friends and relatives to pull her out of the dark abyss the loss of her sight had thrown her into. She'd been one of the first removed from the quad, only cuts and bruises from the shock of the explosion, no visible injuries except her eyes, still smoking. She vaguely remembered someone touching her shoulder, whispering in her ear a demand for answers, for explanations. She remembers the voice, probably a bumbling fool of a police sergeant, desperate, shaky, colleagues breathing down his neck as she answered his question in a voice she barely recognised.

'I can't see, Mr Fudge.'

He had mumbled his apologies, taking it as read that the blind lady was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Not much use. She didn't see anything. But for her, that answer marked the beginning of the rest of her life. She couldn't see. The light, the blinding, burning light expelled from the now smoking crater in the middle of her beloved quad had robbed her of a birthright. She felt outraged: She wanted it back. It hadn't been the rounded man's to take - the rat had merely scampered away and escaped all the possible blame.

These thoughts were yet again prominent as she headed down the stairs to breakfast, the sound and smell of the sizzling bacon inviting her to the Kitchen. Their fizzing excitement to be covered in brown sauce and slapped between two slices of economy white bread was simply too good to be true. Lucy was obviously doing a good job. Claudia's sister was singing along to the radio as she cooked the cholesterol attack in the making, doting on the fact she had another body to care for in the absence of her husband. Claudia had lived with Lucy and her husband, Paul, for the past two years, Lucy grateful for her company as Paul tended to spend a lot of time abroad on business. She was just part of the furniture.

'Bad night?' Lucy enquired without turning round. Claudia sighed and sat down.

'Just the dream again. Back with a vengeance.'

'You know, you should go to the doctor's about that. It's probably like that Gulf war syndrome thingy. Only what you see would be a great plot for a children's book. Wizards and wands… honestly woman, you'd make a mint.'

She set the sandwich in front of her, Claudia immediately taking a large and oversized bite, dribbling sauce down her chin. She reached across the table and felt for the usual pile of napkins, dabbing it away with the etiquette of royalty. The song on the radio ended as the newsreader's voice materialised, ringing in her oversensitive ears as he gravely read the headlines as if it was the end of the world.

'John Major's 'Back to Basics' campaign is yet again in tatters as another colleague…'

'Yawn!' Claudia said loudly, her mouth still filled with bacon. 'Another scandal. He'll be out by Christmas, you mark my words.'

Lucy merely raised a metaphoric eyebrow as she placed the dirty frying pan in the sink. The newsreader went through the sport with his usual depression about the state of the nation's Cricket team. Lost again. No suprises there.

'And finally, news just in. The Home office reports that a high security prisoner has escaped from an undisclosed detainment centre. Obviously adding to the problems already rampant in the prison service, the latest outbreak of Sirius Black comes after many MPs have called for a public enquiry into the agency run by Derek Lewis. Although home office secretary Michael Howard was unavailable for comment, a press release did state that the public is warned that Black is armed and extremely dangerous. A special hotline has been set up…'

Later, she would have sworn that time stood still. She choked loudly on her bacon as she felt the colour drain from her face, the remaining pigment of her disabled eyes flashing for an instant, like a long distance sensor ringing loudly in her head. Sirius Sirius Sirius… the alarm had a voice, the voice of that day belonging to the round faced man, unable to contain his glee as the full extent of the implementation of his attack came to him in a satisfied smile flashing across those pale, traitor like lips. He had won. She, and the mysterious Sirius, had lost. She wondered, not for the first time, what it had been all about. The dog. The wands. The light. Her eyes were forced open at the horror of the memory, unknowingly focused on the glass of milk in front of her as she continued to sit in a trance, oblivious to the latest scandal in the ministry of Agriculture and Fisheries. She was shaking.

'Claudia?' said Lucy's soft voice, turning away from the washing up at the lack of political commentary. Her breath caught in her throat as no answer came to the front.

Then suddenly it happened. The anonymous glass, the milk flat and calm upon the wooden tabletop, began to shake. Little rings emigrated from the glass's epicentre, growing in intensity until it threatened to topple over. Lucy made no attempt to stop it, staring wide-eyed at her sister's focused daze. Then it exploded.

'What the?…' Lucy had to duck to avoid the flying glass. Claudia didn't batter an eyelid, but felt somehow liberated by the unseen devastation. She breathed again as the pale liquid crept across the wooden surface, Lucy staring on, mouth wide, as it dripped onto the white lineal floor tiles with a silent splash. She made no attempt to explain.

'I've… I've got to go.' 

She silently rose from the table, making an aimless grab for her white stick before opening the door and slipping into the summer sun. Lucy sadly watched her departure before attempting to clear up the mess. The accident, she concluded quietly to herself as the music of the radio finally engulfed her yet again, had a more profound effect upon Claudia than anybody realised.

***

She was back on her bench again, her head in her hands as she cried dry and absent tears. Every time it got to her, she'd walk up here, back to the grounds of her beloved castle, the empty shell that dominated the estuary of the Medway as it cut its way through the Kentish countryside. Not that she was able to appreciate the view. She pressed her fingertips into her eye sockets, cursing the day she'd ever bought that Tuna and Sweet corn roll. 

It was the last day of July. The warm breeze coming down the river from Maidstone softly ruffled her mahogany hair, left long and flecked with a minuscule amount of grey she'd been told helped 'define' her. Her eyes gave nothing away. For some odd reason, she held a strange sense of foreboding in the air, as if the whole world had taken an intake of breath in expectancy of a catastrophe. Maybe she was just a little over sensitive. The name had that effect on her.

She hadn't mentioned the specifics of the accident to anyone, not even her beloved sister. Lucy, like so many others, still firmly believed Claudia lost a few of her marbles the same time Covent Garden was deprived of several tonnes of pavement. The dreams had of course been unavoidable. You can't go around screaming about wands and magic spells in your sleep and not expect the topic to appear at the kitchen table. Everyone said the same thing. She'd always had an overactive imagination, probably heightened by the imagery she was now forced to conjure up in the place of what everyone took for granted. It was true that her dreams were more vivid in those dark hours, but their relevance had never been totally uncovered. 

The dark-haired man's name was Sirius. She knew that. So many times she had doubted her fragile sanity, whether those two figures in the quad were real, or just some form of scapegoat her bitter mind created as a means to vent her anger. But Sirius wasn't that a common name, was it? The mere mention of that name had sent a shiver of remembrance down her spine, opening a chasm inside her she didn't know existed. She knew it was her who smashed the glass. She knew that the memory of that name had ignited it, this unknown entity within her that seemed so powerful, it was frightening. The anger that welled up in her chest at the thought of Sirius, the last person she ever saw, eyes wide and dismayed as his fate was laid in front of him, was causing such an eruption in her blood, she wanted to shout his innocence from the rooftops. She wanted to scream his name right across the valley and laugh maddeningly at the irony that she'd never be believed. The anger became vengeful as her fingertips tingled, an unknown power invested in her hands finally emerging from its shell. And right now, she was scared at what she was capable of. 

But of course, her observer knew exactly what it was. He watched her intently while sitting in a trance under an ageing oak which adorned the castle grounds, dominating the park with outstretched arms. He sensed her emotions. She knew what she was feeling. And as the silent, black dog tiptoed away into the day, his resolution was firmer than ever. He was after revenge. Not just for himself, to satisfy a hunger that had been eating away from him more than any creature of hell could possibly attempt, but for her. And all the other people who'd been hurt by the betrayals of twelve years ago. 

In a small town hidden away in the depths of Surrey, a boy, the worst effected by the tragic events, was finally confronted with the image of his Godfather. It was instantly dismissed.

***

**__**

July 1995

Harry Potter was up late again. He'd perfected the art of being a shadow of the night, his book propped up against the pillow as he studied the complicated text, his tongue protruding a little from between his teeth as his brow deepened in concentration. His wand made a much better source of light than the flimsy torch he'd previously been using. Arriving back at Privet Drive a few weeks before, he'd handed over his Hogwarts materials to a daunted looking Vernon, seizing his trunk as soon as they stepped through the door and searching it for missing artefacts. He was like a customs officer as the port of Dover, ruthless and efficient. But he had been fooled: George and Fred Weasley's fake wands certainly had their advantages. Clutching the real Macoy firmly up his sleeve, he'd disappeared upstairs and immediately slid it under the loose floorboard without Aunt Petunia battering an eyelid. Using magic during the holidays was a crime currently overlooked. And after the events of the third task, he felt in need of the extra protection. 

As he sat there, watching the crudely repaired clock count down to his fifteenth birthday, he was reminded of a similar situation just two years previously. Two years ago, when he was just thirteen. It felt like a lifetime away. Two years ago, he was carefully avoiding making ink blots on the sheets as he struggled with that History of Magic essay, the escapism it provided a godsend when compared to his living arrangements with the Dursleys. He hated them. They hated him. It was a mutual agreement. But now it didn't bother him. Things were a little beyond all that.

Of course, Privet Drive remained the last place on earth he wished to reside. Leaving the mock-Tudor suburban dwelling for the turrets of Hogwarts had delivered him the best times of his life. But the rough has to come with the smooth. Voldemort was on the rampage again, and there was little he could do about it. Despite the protests from Mrs Weasley, Professor Dumbledore had insisted he returned to the Dursleys, where at least the 'ancient magic' he'd evoked whilst Harry slept soundly in the little wicker basket all those years ago was still functional. It had been a nerve-racking summer, waiting for news from Hagrid and the Giants, Sirius back out in the wild, risking his freedom to deliver Dumbledore the tools he needed to set up the resistance. Even Snape, negotiating his way back into Voldemort's inner circle, no doubt, gave him a little cause for concern. And all Harry could to do was sit there, in the smallest bedroom of Privet Drive, trying to read in the dim light of his wand while hoping Dudley didn't catch him out as he wandered the darkened landing for his usual midnight feast. 

But Harry couldn't just sit there while the wizarding world faced the biggest threat for decades. 'Greater and more terrible than ever before…' The divination teacher's warning echoed in his ears. Both Ron and Hermione agreed with him as all three sought the best course of action. Which went some way to explain why he was reading such a complicated document as a Magical Law Enforcement Department Evidence file. And this one was bigger than most.

It was Hermione's idea to do it: Within the first week of the holidays, she'd owled Harry with the suggestion, both finding means to quell his boredom while in virtual imprisonment in Privet Drive and quench his unnerving thirst to be of some help to his elders. Dumbledore, Sirius, Hagrid… these were just some of the people Harry depended on, now risking their lives in their quest against Voldemort. And if reading testament after testament of that fateful winter day almost fourteen years ago made anyone's lives easier, it was with every page. But picking out evidence for the defence of Sirius Black in amongst the hundred odd statements blaming him for the destruction of a small corner of Covent Garden was like looking for a needle in a haystack.

Harry's' heart had sunk lower and lower as he tuned yet another page, another Muggle clearly stating that upon the accusation, Black had whipped out his wand and the street disintegrated in a blinding white light. Nothing in a ten-metre radius survived intact. The more he read, the more he would have been otherwise convinced that Wormtail's escape was exceedingly unlikely. But Harry had seen, with those staggeringly green eyes, the truth. Peter Pettigrew was alive. He'd blown up the Muggle street causing the Charring Cross emergency department to overflow that day. There had to be something the former Mr Crouch overlooked in his haste to lock up the traitor. Anything. Harry's search was so frantic, so absorbing, he failed to notice the silent switch to midnight that heralded the arrival of an entourage of owls.

This late night ritual - although only a recent development in his previously present-lacking life - never failed to lift Harry's normally flagging spirits. Pigwidgeon almost crashed through the window, distracting Harry from the heavy text as he bounced off the walls, coming to a stop in the middle of his duvet, a little fluffed up ball of squeaking excitement. Hedwig followed in her usual, dignified manner, beak turned up slightly as she observed Pig's antics whilst dropping a particularly heavy package on Harry's pillow. It was closely followed by his Hogwarts letter and present from Hagrid. She nibbled his ear affectionately before going to her perch as he excitedly ripped off the wrapping paper of his three presents. For a single moment, he felt like any other boy on his birthday, happy to have another year behind him and many more to come. The gifts surpassed his expectations. A Quidditch tactics book emerged from Ron (obviously expecting Harry to fill the shoes of Oliver Wood as captain of their house team the following September) along with what looked like a lifetime's supply of sweets and fireworks from Hagrid. A bulky letter from Hermione accompanied a rather splendid-looking galaxy ball. Harry admired it in the light for a moment, captivated by the tiny pinpricks of light moving in the darkened wastelands in perfect harmony. Then upon reading Hermione's letter, he fell instantly to earth.

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Dear Harry,

Happy Birthday! I'm staying at Ron's at the moment, so I've sent this over with Hedwig. Don't think your present is an excuse never to go to Astrology ever again! It'll certainly help with your OWLs, though. You can never start revising too early! 

Harry smiled. Some things would never change. 

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Anyway, I need to be serious for a moment… How is the research going? Have you found anything that might help Snuffles? I seem to be staring down dead ends at the moment… all the accounts I've read lend nothing to his defence. And with the Ministry stepping up the search he needs all the help he can get. You'd think in the middle of a hundred odd witnesses someone would have heard something... It's just a matter of going through everything with a fine toothed comb. If you find anything, send Hedwig straight away. We can't waste any more time.

Harry could feel his face dropping as the pointlessness of the task they'd set themselves seemed to overwhelm him. Hundreds of witnesses, and all of them saying the same thing. That Sirius pointed his wand at Wormtail, blowing a reasonable sized hole in the middle of the road and turning Pettigrew into a pile of bloody rags. Report after report of damning evidence… no wonder Crouch thought it unnecessary to go through the formalities of trial. Harry put down Hermione's letter, not bothering to read the rest as he flicked to the beginning of the report to examine the statistics. It was like a casualty list from the trenches: A number of amputated limbs, cuts and bruises, broken bones. The newspaper cutting Hermione had sent him from her local Muggle library outlined all the gory details. 

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A gas explosion in central London cost the lives of twelve innocent shoppers yesterday morning in an accident which brought Covent Garden to a standstill. A further thirty-six were treated for a variety of injuries at nearby Charing Cross hospital. A spokesman for British Gas was unavailable for comments today as police begin to investigate…

Harry frowned at the article for an instant, mentally checking the numbers against the official ministry report. Thirty-six injured? He flicked to the report's contents page, where the fault line was horrifically obvious. His heart beat wildly in his chest as he double-checked the statistics. Thirty-five Muggles interviewed at Charing Cross, all thoroughly dealt with by a team of specially sanctioned Obliviators. Someone was missing. Thirty-six went into the hospital and thirty-five left with the gas explosion story implanted firmly in their brains. But one didn't. One, single soul escaped the procedure. What if this person knew something? What if… Harry was too excited to think as the possibility of a breakthrough emerged fully on his grey and tired face, instantly flushing colour into his cheeks as he grabbed his quill to divulge the information to Ron and Hermione. He was so caught up that he failed to notice he was down a present from the year before.

***

He was absolutely shattered. He was curled up in a tight fisted ball, asleep in a chair beside the fire a roaring fire. His hair, although a lot shorter now and beginning to be flicked with grey, still flopped gently across his closed lids, which in turn concealed a pair of sunken pale eyes tired with his flight. He'd arrived merely hours before, muttered an excuse for a hello to the occupant of the house before setting in his current state, sleeping like he hadn't done for a month. But then as the other man entered the room with a tray of crumpets, he reminded himself that this was probably accurate.

'Padfoot?'

Sirius stirred a little and opened a suspecting eye, which quickly scanned the room as he adjusted to his new surroundings. After two years on the run, he still found it hard to shake off the constant need to be on guard. But all too soon his face broke into the legendary mischievous smile that felt so alien to his aged features.

'Honestly, Sirius, you could always sleep for England…' muttered Remus as he set down the tea tray. 'But it's great to see you anyway.'

'What's an old dog like me got to do if he can't drop in on his partner in crime?'

'Depends what crime you're referring to, Padfoot.' Remus raised a single eyebrow as Sirius' face became weary again.

'We live in difficult times, dear Moony,' he sighed, finally sitting up and buttering a crumpet. 'I presume you've heard what happened at the Triwizard tournament.'

'Only that Harry won…' replied Remus, a little wary. 'Let's face it, I don't get out much. There was hardly anything in the Prophet.'

'Typical ministry cover-up job.' muttered Sirius, rubbing his face at the daunting task ahead of him. 'You'd better sit down.'

Remus did just that, as his sleepy guest launched into the events on the night of the third task: How Harry and Cedric tied for first place, Cedric's death and Voldemort's resurrection. Remus' face paled more than he thought possible as Sirius recited Harry's worst nightmare word for word. When he told him the truth about Moody, he gasped out loud while he fell into a guilt-ridden abyss.

'Oh god,' he whispered hoarsely, 'Its all my fault. I should have killed Pettigrew when I had the chance. If only he hadn't got away… If only I'd stayed on at Hogwarts, then none of this would have happened… I could have…'

'This isn't anybody's fault, Remus.' said Sirius strongly, pouring himself a cup of tea from a battered teapot. 'We can't change fate. We just have to make the best of it.'

'You mean…'

'Time to get the old gang together. Dumbledore's orders. The Phoenix is about to rise from the flames. We need to get the message out to Arabella and Mundungus at least. They'll alert the others. It's really happening Remus…'

'But what about Harry?'

A silence feel over the both of them as the clock struck silently twelve. Sirius glanced at its golden hands as he sighed heavily. 'Well, as of a minute ago, he's fifteen years old, with the weight of the world upon his shoulders. The tournament really took it out of him. But something tells me he's too much his father's son to stay like that for long.'

They allowed themselves to smile for a moment; both diverging into their own private memories of a friend long sincepassed. For the first time since he'd left Hogwarts, Sirius began to feel his exterior falter. He swallowed sharply and regained his composure.

'Harry is safe for now. That's all we have to worry about.' He stood up.

'Sirius!' Remus exclaimed, outraged by his friend's sphere of concern. 'Voldemort's back! No one is safe!' He almost yelled, the sound quelling in his throat as Sirius attempted to silence him with a glance. He continued indignantly. 'And what can we do if the ministry isn't on side? They'll be hunting you down - excuse the pun - like a dog. Voldemort's right hand man, still at large. This is too risky. If you're found you'll be hexed on the spot.'

Sirius spun around with his eyes full of fire.

'Since when did that stop me before?'

***

Something was definitely different. Claudia hadn't felt it for a long time, but when it came back, it washed over her like a flash flood, all engulfing to never cease. Fear. The terrible, gut feeling that something was going to happen, something so awful that it electrified the air with its probability. Lucy always put it down to over-sensitivity: She'd read in a book somewhere that it was a common problem in the visually impaired: That their other senses over compensated to make up the difference. But this was stranger still, like something outside her sphere of sensitivity was trying to alert her to danger, a sixth sense almost but without the dead people. Not that she'd see them anyway.

She'd felt like this since the end of June, a star-less night when a scream echoed vividly in her dreams, manifesting itself in reality through a retched cry that awoke the rest of the house hold. She hadn't dreamed in months. The pills the doctor had prescribed her seemed to be very effective, calming her down tremendously since the glass incident. But this dream had broken the drug-induced barrier. As she explained to Lucy the next morning over coffee, she knew the exact reception it was likely to receive.

'It was that man again - you know, the little round-faced one I saw in Covent Garden. He was in pain... I could feel it. Something was draining from his arm, hot, sticky like. I felt like I was swimming through it…'

Lucy gave her that familiar look, as if to say she was truly off her rocker. Claudia continued, naturally oblivious. She needed to get it off her chest.

'There were masked faces everywhere, it was horrible. Everyone was so scared. And the worst thing of all there was this boy, couldn't have been more than a teenager. He was screaming as if his nerves were on fire.' She gulped, as the memory of the dream became too painful to divulge. 'And that's what woke me up.'

'And the rest of the house.' Muttered Lucy, disapproving and clearing the cups away. 'Have you been taking your tablets? Maybe we should up the dosage…'

'No.'

Lucy fell silent at her sudden protest, unsure how to respond. Claudia sank back in her seat, unsure where her temporary insolence came from. She hated the dreams, the nightmares, more accurately. They felt more real than any of her visual memories did. As if they didn't belong to her but she'd watched them, over and over, like a battered movie reel torn at the edges, lacking in a final detail that left her thirsting for more. And that scream… it had seemed so familiar, like the wretched moaning of a voice she once knew, one which had spoken to her before, pleadingly. Just thinking about it, she got goose bumps all the way down her spine. The voice was going to come back.

'Sorry, Lucy. I just have this horrible feeling something's going to happen. It's as if the dreams are the key to it.' The words felt ridiculous as soon as they left her mouth.

'Doing your best Cassandra impression, heh?'

'You could say that.'

***

__

Dear Harry

I don't believe it! I think you've cracked it! I totally agree with you - it looks as if one of the witnesses slipped the net. There's some Muggle wandering around, totally oblivious to the fact they hold the key to everything. Makes you want to laugh out loud at the irony of it all, doesn't it?

Anyway, I'm back at home now, but I'm trying to talk my folks into rescuing you from that dungeon pit from hell otherwise known as the Dursleys. I really hate the idea of you being cooped up in there. Ron agrees with me. Don't give up yet, I'm really working on it.

Hermione

PS Don't do anything stupid. You know what I mean. Ron says hello

Harry sighed wearily as he read the letter for the umpteenth time, his brain fizzing with scams and ideas that hadn't a hope of working. The excitement of the discovery had faded into a flickering light on the horizon, always just that one step away and totally unattainable. It was a horrible feeling, knowing that someone out there was wandering about with the memory of one of the many incidences that resulted in his scarred childhood, something that could have so easily been avoided if it wasn't for that excuse for a rodent. And he hadn't got the faintest how to snatch it.

The letter which was now at rest on his bedside table was a few days old at least - you could never tell with owl post - and the long, warm haze of summer was making feel even more so. Hedwig hadn't been back for a couple of days. When she'd delivered the letter from Hermione, she'd quickly fled back into the night, barely pausing to award Harry his usual friendly nip around the ears. Harry thought she'd hurried off to satisfy the growl in her stomach with an unfortunate mouse that chose exactly the wrong moment to emerge from its safe haven. Harry wasn't too bothered: Hedwig was quite an unpredictable tyke and liked to surprise him. She was all too aware of this self-imposed isolation. Dumbledore hadn't exactly said Harry couldn't leave the Dursleys anytime during the vacation, but he could imagine the look that graced his face when Dumbledore explained this to a worried Mrs Weasley: Serious, pained and the sparkle that lurked behind his half moon glasses hideously dimmed. He wouldn't put Harry through this unless he had sound reason. And he always had sound reason. Harry trusted him.

He tore his eyes away from the open window and attempted to focus on his transfiguration essay regarding the moral implications of human transfigurations. But not even McGonagall's Animagus abilities would inspire him on this summer's day. Especially when considering Hedwig chose that moment to make her most dramatic entrance yet.

For a minute, Harry didn't know what was happening. He felt a rush of wind ruffle his hair and he swung round on his chair just in time to see a bundle of snowy feathers tumble off the bed and out of sight. Judging by its frantic flutterings, for a moment Harry thought it was Ron's owl, Pigwidgeon. But all too soon the familiar hooting and scrambling to climb back onto the floral duvet revealed the owl's true identity.

Harry stood up and rushed to Hedwig's aid, as she was unable to move due to the weight of the parcel. Harry frowned a little as he unwound the various coils of string to release Hedwig from her bind, hooting gratefully in the process once finally liberated, immediately taking off to settle back on her perch. Harry watched her in flight for a second: She seemed a little shaken, probably from the weight of the package and the possible length of her flight, her eyes rather unfocused as she swayed in her cage before drifting off to some well-earned sleep. Harry took this chance to examine the package. It was about the size of a large sweet tin, wrapped securely in brown paper and twine that he proceeded to tear apart with a slight glaze of bafflement across his emerald eyes. Another birthday present? He wasn't entirely sure. He wasn't disappointed when he didn't get a gift from his Godfather, as he wasn't really expecting it. The adults in his life had their own battles to fight over the break, Hagrid somewhere in the Alps on the trail of his mother among the giants, Sirius rounding up what Dumbledore referred to as 'The old crowd.' Harry had learnt a long time ago that Dumbledore always knew what he was doing. Nevertheless, he shredded the brown paper as whatever it was concealing tumbled out onto the cast-off floral duvet that currently covered his bed. The sun caught the glass it was encased in for a second, splattering his walls with an array of light and spectrum coloured dancing across the shelves before it came to rest. He gasped.

It was an hourglass, much larger than Hermione's time turner from the third year, and much more elaborately decorated. The sand inside it was almost white, specked occasionally with a darker grain that made it an uncertain shade of yellow, yet maintaining an air of trusting purity. He picked it up cautiously, rolling it over in his hands as he examined the craftsmanship, the glass shielded in elegantly carved mahogany wood, with words engraved around its edged that he didn't recognise. It felt incredibly heavy. Frowning slightly, mystified as it its origins, he turned it over to examine the base where yet another inscription lay.

'Tempus,' he muttered out loud under his breath, fingers tracing the heavily engraved letters. Tempus? The frown on his face became fully formed as he thought long and hard about this word. It seemed familiar, Latin at least. He closed his eyes and tried to remember, returning the hourglass to its upright position as he thought it over in his head.

'Tempus?' he whispered again, wishing he had the walking talking Latin dictionary in the form of Hermione right now. 'Tempus, Tempus, Tem - '

Suddenly he tried to pull his fingers away from the hourglass, but found them apparently sealed to the poles that encased its delicate form, rapidly burning to the touch. It was glowing. In the panic that now settled in his chest, he attempted to rip the thing from his grasp but to no avail. It was glowing brighter still, the light burning his eyes slightly as he was able to cover them with the sleeve of his shirt. He tried to cry out as the burning in his fingertips became unbearable, but no sound came to the fore. The colours around him blurred and spun franticly and more painfully than he'd ever experienced. Then with a final, muffled attempt at a cry, everything went black.

***

When he finally dared to open his eyes, he found himself huddled in a doorway and had to catch himself before he stumbled onto the cold, hard pavement. He gasped, his first breath virginal like that of a creature emerging from the dark depths for the first time in its life, reminding him strongly of his initial gulp of air after he emerged from the Hogwarts lake at the end of the second task. The memory made him shudder, but didn't distract him from the scene that was unveiling before his eyes. Chaos.

He wondered for a moment whether he'd dissapparated into the middle of a war zone: There was glass everywhere in the street in front of him and that he now staggered down, still a little dazed from his unexpected journey. Was it another Portkey? As the thought crossed his confused mind he gripped his wand tighter in his pocket, the other hand still gripping the hourglass like a vice. He stared at it for an moment, holding it out at arm's length during his examination, a suspicious gaze now forming across his face._ Never trust anything that can think for itself if you can't see where it keeps its brain..._ It wasn't the first time he wished he'd taken more heed of Mr Weasley's advice. Finally able to prise it from his fingers, he stuffed it in his pocket and continued to stare at the scene. It looked like the end of the world. Injured people here and there were having various cuts and bruises tended to by Muggle paramedics. The more serious being lifted onto stretchers and carted off to a collection of ambulances who now and then let off a squeal of a siren as they dashed off into the busy London streets. And a sickening but unfortunately significant number lay covered with blood splattered sheets. He knew where he was now, glancing up at a street name fastened high on a corner building, which read Monmouth Street, WC2. Central London. If his memory served him correctly, somewhere near Covent Garden. 

'Get back, please, get back!'

He heard a voice suddenly approach him, somewhat shaky and lacking in authority, but one that caught his attention and brought him back to reality with a very sharp thud. It couldn't be… no, it was impossible… Then a voice echoed through his memory of a conversation overheard back in the Three broomsticks… 

__

'I was junior minister at the department of magical catastrophes at the time, and I was one of the first on the scene after Black murdered all those people. I - I will never forget it. I still dream about it sometimes…'

It was Cornelius Fudge, but not as Harry had ever seen him. This man was at least a decade younger, his eyes wide and panicky at the scene all around him, looking incredibly uncomfortable in his tweed Muggle suit. He didn't even cast Harry a second glance, Harry now attempting to flatten his hair across his scar, which was currently aching from some unknown blow. Harry screwed up his eyes for a second as all this new information began to be processed. Mr Fudge obviously had too many things on his mind as Harry began to edge away from the scene to observe from a distance. The crater in the middle of the quad was smoking still, cracks in the pavement reaching out from its epicentre like cruel, creeping fingers out towards the survivors on its edges. And judging by the occasional piles of rags and covered heaps in the road, these seemed to number few.

Harry turned suddenly to face the doorway he was now standing in as the realisation hit him so hard he was physically sick, all colour now draining from his face along with the contents of his stomach. He felt faint and dizzy, as if he'd done a round the world trip by floo power after a rather nasty Indian curry. Luckily, Fudge hadn't seen him and was back on the job, advising the memory charm squad of people to watch as they attempted to put their wands out of sight, considering the sheer volume of Muggles they were having to deal with. There was also the small matter of the gibbering wreck of a wizard backed up against the wall from the other side of the square. The man, noticeable due to his choice of wizard attire, had his dark eyes open wide, hair a little swept back from the blast, but was visibly shaking with a mixture of fear and hysteria. He was a man on the verge of madness. A man who was all too aware of the fate that lay ahead of him. A man that, a few days earlier, had lost everything dear to him in the world through the actions of one little rat.

'Sirius…' Harry whispered.

Harry watched the event for himself as Sirius was taken down, heavily armed hit-wizards dressed as Muggle CID officers handcuffed him without a struggle. The satisfied looks upon their faces enough to make Harry feel like emptying his stomach again. Sirius looked around the quad desperately, knowing that he was hardly going to be believed, seeing straight through Harry like everyone else before being pushed headfirst into a ministry car and speeding away from the scene, his strangled cry echoing around the tragic scene. His twelve-year booking at the hotel a la Azkaban had just been confirmed.

Harry swallowed the feeling to vomit again as he wandered out of his hiding place and among the debris. The hourglass must have been some sort of time turner gone hideously wring. He'd got the impression that that sort of contraption could only transport you back over a matter of hours, not years… and who had sent it to him? And how did he set it off? Most of all, how for all the gold in Gringotts was he supposed to get back? Whatever did it, it certainly did it well. He was now firmly stuck in what by all evidence looked like London in early November 1981, just after the fateful gas explosion that set off so many chains of events that it made Harry feel faint again just trying to think about it. Dumbledore's instructive tones echoed through his mind again… _You must not be seen_… and for once he took it straight to heart. He realised what exactly had been handed to him on a plate. The perfect opportunity to find them. Someone who wasn't going to be at the negative end of a memory charm by the time the day was out. The missing witness from the records.

'Hermione's going to kill me…' he thought as he backed down the street and flagged down a taxi for Charing Cross hospital.

***

'Harry!'

Silence.

'Harry, you retched boy! Get your sorry little behind down these stairs and mow to front lawn! Its beginning to look like the amazon rainforest!'

Silence once again. Aunt Petunia sighed. Maybe he'd finally died. She mentioned it to Vernon, who had parked his own oversize behind in the chair by the new gas fire. He barely looked up.

'We can only hope…' he muttered from behind the newspaper.

***

A/N: Hahaha! I finally started this monster! I hope that its living up to your expectations and that you're not too annoyed with me about how long it took to get up. Read and review to your hearts content and make me a very happy bunny. J

__


	3. Reunions and Ridicules

Disclaimer: The universe of Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling, and is used here without her permission

Disclaimer: The universe of Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling, and is used here without her permission. I acknowledge that I have no rights to any cannon characters, settings or events mentioned. I have no intention and no desire to make profit from this piece, as the credit deserves to go to JK Rowling as she invented them and thus owns all rights to them. Not me. Got it? Good. But I own any original characters. I believe the BBC used to own _One Man and his Dog, wonderful programme that is was, but I don't know what's happened to it now. (Televised sheepdog trials, in case you didn't know) I apologise for inaccuracies with the medical bits, but hey, I'm a historian, not a biologist._

**The Unknown Witness**

**Chapter 2: Reunions and Ridicules**

** **

Harry felt incredibly small, sitting in the back of the cab as it sped down toward Leicester Square, attempting a U-turn in order to do battle with the on-coming traffic of Charing Cross road. The cab driver was blabbering away in blissful ignorance, talking about the 'gas explosion' with the air of a war veteran.

'So yeah, all I heard was this huge bang and there was dust everywhere, like, and my last fare was screaming herself silly, the stupid cow. I just thought I'd drive up and have a bit of a gander, you know?' Harry didn't, but nodded absently instead. 'Yeah, well, I think I was right caught up in the aftermath, you know? Smoke everywhere, people screaming… I wonder if anybody kicked the bucket… Did you see any of it, mate?'

Harry frowned a little in the cab driver's rear-view mirror, wishing he'd just leave him to his own thoughts. The cab driver stared right back and didn't push the issue, dragging his eyes away from Harry's emerald stare and placing them firmly back on the road. The London traffic was doing its worst, the road ahead hideously blocked by black cabs and buses, the heaving commuters occasionally dashing between the bumpers as the cab driver drummed his fingers impatiently. It appeared that he was easily distracted.

'Blimey, that's a nasty scrape you've got yourself there, son!' he said, his eyes flicking up in the mirror to indicate he was talking about Harry's scar. 'How'd on earth you get that?'

'If I told you,' Harry said slowly, raising his head and staring hard in the mirror, his green eyes flashing, 'you'd never believe me.'

'Oh yeah?' chuckled the driver, arching an eyebrow. 'Why's that then?'

But Harry didn't give him a chance to hear the reply. He calmly opened the door to the cab, seeing the sign for the hospital just a few hundred feet up the road. The cab driver looked at him, flabbergasted. 'This'll do me good, thanks.'

'Oi! What about my fare?'

Harry had one foot on the pavement when he scrambled in his pocket and pulled out a galleon. He chucked it to the now rather bemused cab driver, who shook his head in astonishment as Harry stared at him expectantly. He held the coin up to the light, frowning.

'And what in the whole of Kensington and Chelsea is this supposed to be?'

Harry slammed the door and leaned back in through the window. 'Gold. Solid gold. I think you'd better go via the Treasury on the way to the taxi rank…'

And with that, Harry dashed off into the hoards of crowds heading up toward the hospital before the cab driver could put in a word of protest. As the driver pulled away, Harry could see him simply shake his head and put him down as a lost fare. The golden Galleon lay forgotten about on the cab floor.

***

The big, black, grim-like dog now pounded the pavement of Magnolia Crescent at such a rate that a passer-by would have sworn he was in a hurry. The beast allowed his tongue to hang out lazily, taking great, panting breaths as his run slowed to a plod, finally halting at the gate of number 25. He sat there for a moment, staring at the door with an inquisitive look on his face, while footsteps behind him grew louder and louder. 

'Honestly Padfoot…' heaved the owner of the footsteps as he finally came to a stop by the monster's side. 'Are you trying to kill me? We're not sixteen anymore, thank Merlin…'

The dog made some form of gesture with its mouth that indicated a form of mischievous grin. He jumped up, somehow with his great blundering paws managed to open the little swing gate and padded softy up to the front door. The dog's companion seemed a little more apprehensive, walking up the path in slow, measured steps, as if the meeting that lay ahead of them was tinged with impending dread.

'If I remember right, doesn't the lovely Arabella have a thing for cats?'

Padfoot nodded slyly. His companion looked somewhere between mirth and annoyance.

'And I suppose its oh-so-convenient that you can't turn up on her door step in your human form as you're playing the mass murderer on the run card? Hmm?' The man shook his head, a sly marauding smile spreading over his paled features as he finally rang the doorbell. 'Some things never change…'

'And by Merlin some things do…' interrupted the voice of the woman who opened the door. 'Remus! How are you, old boy? And what are you doing turning up on my door step at this ridiculous hour?'

Remus Lupin grinned hugely as he finally embraced his dear friend. 'Arabella Figg - long time no see, eh?'

'You've got that right!' the old lady grinned a grin so wide that it would cross international date lines. She glanced down at the dog. 'Got yourself a friend there, Remus?'

Padfoot sat up at the gesture, a little on edge. Remus noticed. 'Calm, boy,' he said, patting the dog's head and receiving an annoyed growl in return. 'This dog is part of the reason I'm here. How's the Muggle research going? I see you've got yourself a nice little disguise here…'

'Oh?' the old lady guffawed. 'You mean the Granny act? Yeah, fools them all the time…'

And at this point, she passed a hand across her face, omitting a shower of pink sparks as she did so, revealing her true face from behind the Persona charm. It was as if her hand ironed out the wrinkles in the old lady's face, revealing in its wake an expression that was so much more familiar to Remus Lupin and his hound-like friend. The hair colour altered like a stream of water, going from white to brown in one seamless swoop, the face ageing in reverse as the teeth straightened and the colour in the eyes became more vibrant than ever, going from misty grey to a deepening blue. As she finished, she sighed heavily.

'That looks much better,' said Remus with a grin. 'I can give you a proper welcome now…'

'Whoa!' cried Arabella, stepping back into the hallway of her perfectly ordinary semi-detached house and beckoning Remus and the dog to follow. They shut the door behind them. 'Don't even try it, mister. I've got your number. Up for a cuppa?' She called from the kitchen

'Yeah, a nice herbal tea would be great…'

'And what about your canine companion?'

Remus took a nervous intake of breath. 'He likes his Butterbeer a little on the warm side, if you remember rightly.'

He heard a clatter of broken china as Arabella looked at him, mouth wide in shock and surprise at the uttering on these words. It was then that Sirius chose to step into the light.

'We've got a bit of explaining to do.'

***

Claudia was suffering from writer's block again. Sitting in her conservatory with the Braille Writer on her lap, she screwed her face up in deep thought, attempting to extract the memory that had long ago been buried along with all the other nonsense she'd spouted along the years. In her stranger moments, Claudia always attempted to get her feelings down on paper. The little dots punched into the thick parchment like material would be fed into the colossal piece of machinery and used to form words of a language she would never be able to visualise. This was the biggest hurdle her injury had thrown at her - realising how much her world depended on the power of the written word. Whether it was just an article she doodled on a post it note at work, or the full-blown novel she knew would never be published, words had been her form of escapism. She could be an entirely different entity behind them and finally release herself from the dream world she existed in before she opened her eyes in the morning, ready to face the reality.

For now, that dream world became her real world. She would open her eyes in the morning, but would still be greeted with the same mist of non-existent colours she'd bid goodnight to the evening before. There had been only a few significant changes made to her lifestyle - the adaptation of documents at the busy London office, more home working, and so on - but they were all aimed at making reality accessible. Nevertheless, the ability to give in to her dream world and sit in front of the Braille Writer, day in day out, at times became too much to bear. 

And when the dream world interrupted her reality, she knew of only one form of redemption. Get it out of her system and onto the script. She raised her fingers like a sword in front of her, her gaze remaining steady, emotionless, and began to type.

_A little boy sat on the edge of the bed, unblinking at the sight of the fallen woman beside him. She sighed heavily, sensing his presence and reached out her hand…_

She paused again, trying to recall the conversation that followed. It was those hazy hours after the 'gas explosion' that tended to inspire her most. It almost felt like her senses were in overdrive that day, compensating for the sudden disappearance of her sight by over emphasising everything else. She remembered the siren mostly. Despite being classed as walking wounded, she was still carefully removed from the crater quite early on in the proceedings, the police taking little notice of her defeated frame as the noisy ambulance carted her off to Accident and Emergency. She remembered the thumping in her head as the ambulance pounded the busy London streets, the flash that cost her vision so dearly replaying in her subconscious as she brought a hand to her brow and moaned piteously with the pain. Then the black that came with the silence as she slid into unexpected unconsciousness. Apparently it had all got too much. 

And that was where this conversation she was currently trying to put to paper came from. She wasn't sure if it was real at all, or whether her brain had simply picked it out of thin air to explain the hours of darkness that came after the explosion and the weirdness that preceded it. She remembered being stirred by a voice, young in its tones but with an underlying air of someone who had a wealth of experience in the dark. It was a voice tinged with a form of sympathy she had never had bestowed on her before or since. It almost understood. She felt like she'd heard it a million times after, in her dreams and most recently manifesting itself in that heart-wrenching scream that had pierced her soul all the way back in June. It was so hard to remember when she wasn't sure whether it was real. She'd lacked a concept of real ever since. Seeing at that time, for her, had been believing. 

What did the voice say? Why had it been so reassuring in those dark hours? Was it simply another dream or part of a bigger illustration? Claudia ripped the paper out of the Braille Writer in frustration, screamed and threw it across the room until she heard it rebound off the glass panel of the conservatory. What did this all mean? Why couldn't she just be normal and not go through the actions of the day like a victim of the Gulf War Syndrome? And would she find out before she lost any grip she might have still had on reality? She let her head sink into her hands, feeling the occasional unseen wrinkle on her face with her familiar fingertips, tracing the lines they made with an ever deepening sense of gloom. She had a sense that things were changing. And that was something she'd never be able to capture in words.

***

The hospital was in the midst of chaos. Harry walked silently in, totally unchallenged by the small collection of Policemen who were talking to various witnesses. These people, he noted, along with their cuts and bruises had on their faces a look of dazed tranquillity. Some poor police Sergeant was trying to get a name out of one man, who was relaying with starling confidence that he was the one and only Father Christmas. Harry then noticed one uncomfortable-looking individual slipping what** looked suspiciously like a wand into the pocket of his jacket. The Ministry Obliviators were on the job. Harry instantly pushed his hair further down across his scar, feeling a little nervous as an Obliviator slinked past, not giving the teenager a second glance as he stepped through the double doors and toward the wards. He may have technically only been 15 months old, but Harry didn't want to take any chances. He removed a handkerchief from his pocket, tapped it once with his wand and quietly transfigured it into a cap to cover his trademark hair.**** There. Easy. Shoving it over his unruly mop and tucking what was left behind his ears, he quickly glanced around before following in the Obliviators footsteps. He was through the double doors and into the ward before the head matron even looked up.**

Harry wasn't a stranger to hospitals. Far from. Even growing up with the Dursleys, his accident-prone mannerisms - not to mention the roughness of Dudley's 'play-fighting' - had awarded him a rather interesting set of doctor's notes. Broken arms, nosebleeds, a badly twisted ankle form the notorious school kitchen roof incident... the list was endless. His time at Hogwarts had so far proved no different. He couldn't recall a time when he hadn't spent a significant part of the summer term locked up in the infirmary with some form of malady or other. If it wasn't Dementors or Basilisks, there was always something or someone vying for his blood. But there was something about the scene that lay before him that made his stomach churn. He'd obviously stepped into some form of waiting area, as he saw a man sitting in a chair, head hanging low in astonishment and grief as he gripped the pathetic excuse for hospital coffee in a shaking hand. Harry lurked by the door for a minute, feeling incredibly intrusive as the stranger sipped his drink slowly, appearing to savour what little flavour the brown coloured liquid contained. The man looked a little uncomfortable in his elderly jeans, shifting in his seat as he set down his drink and returned his hands deep into his pockets. His face remained staring at the floor as Harry attempted to pass him. He was just feet away when the stranger let out a small but audible sob from the dark recess of his throat, a sound that twisted a knot in Harry's' chest so tight, he couldn't help but stop.

'Sir?' he asked tentatively, pausing at the man's side. He got no reaction. 'Are you all right? Do you want me to get you anything?'

At this the man looked up, his eyes revealed as a little red and puffy, as if only today he had allowed the outpour of grief he'd been feeling for an eternity to empty itself upon the cold, white-tiled floor. He gazed up at Harry for an instant, before looking back at his feet.

'No, son, I'm all right, I'm…' then he paused, shivered almost, and looked back up at Harry. His eyes were wide and suddenly alert, blue and seemingly watery at whatever loss he had to face. But what the stranger next said shook Harry beyond belief.

'Merlin's ghost!' he muttered, rubbing his eyes absently as if he was truly losing his grip on reality. 'James? Is that you?'

Harry suddenly found breathing a very necessary body function, but one that was impossible to carry out. He stepped back as if electrified. 'Erm, no, er, sorry.' He managed to stutter, suddenly realising who he was addressing. 'You've got me mixed up with someone else…'

'Yes, I suppose I did,' said Remus Lupin, who went back to staring at the floor despondently. 'Sorry, it's just you bare a startling resemblance to a friend of mine who recently - ' he closed his eyes to stop a fresh flood of tears. ' - Passed on.'

'I'm sorry,' Harry found himself saying, pulling up a pew next to his future Hogwarts professor. 'Do you want to talk about it?'

Remus looked up, a little surprised, showing on his face a similar sort of turmoil that was currently taking place in the back of Harry's mind. He knew he was wasting time. He knew that someone, somewhere, within the Victorian walls that made up the formidable hospital held all the answers to exactly what he want to know. But right now, right in front of him, was someone who could answer everything else.

Remus sighed as he ran a weathered hand through his honey brown hair, yet to be flicked with the smattering of grey Harry was more acquainted with. 'He died about a week ago. And his wife. Best people in the world, I'd known them all my life…' he trailed off and picked up his coffee cup again. 'I don't know why I'm telling you this…'

'It helps to talk,' Harry said instantly, not wishing to lose out on the opportunity of gaining first hand memory. 'I may just be some random teenager, but I'm a good listener.'

Remus looked at him, a little suspicious. Harry glazed absently at the coffee cup Remus was once again gripping, not making eye contact so to prevent any further revelations. Silence gripped them both as they lost themselves in their individual thoughts, one blissfully unaware of the other's close connection. Remus sighed again.

'James and Lily. They died in a… in a…' Remus paused, mistaking Harry for a Muggle, and cleared his throat. 'In a car accident. Head on smash. They didn't have a chance. Left a little baby behind too, little Harry. He's not even 18 months, bless him. He's got his mother's eyes.' 

Harry became suddenly enthralled by his shoelaces. 'I'm sorry…' he managed to muffle before needing to stop to prevent the trickle of his own tears. Remus patted him gently on the back, smiling fondly to himself.

'Are you positive you're not James re-incarnated?' he said with a chuckle. 'Just like him, that was. Always apologising even if he'd had nothing to do with it. But that's ignoring the fact that most of the time he did…' Remus trickled off into his own memory again, an odd trait in a person so young, but he soon pulled himself back to reality.****

'And then there's all this…'

'All what?' Harry said inquisitively, although he knew perfectly well what was to be spoken.

'You must have heard that gas explosion, down near Covent Garden.' Harry nodded sullenly. 'Another friend of mine - Peter - he was caught up in it. Hardly anything of him left. Literally. One finger, I think they said.' At this, Remus choked. 'This has been one hell of a week… James, Lily, Peter… and Sirius… I haven't got anything left.'

As Remus bit down hard on his lip, the youthful look upon his weary face dissolving in tears that should never have graced it.** Harry rose, more determined than ever. He removed his cap, ran a hand through his untidy black hair and stared at Remus, resolute. Remus glanced up.**

'Don't give up yet. Things are never what they seem. There's always something out to surprise us, catch us out, shake our belief system to the ground and seem to squash our very existence into nothing. But never believe that things won't change. There are people out there who care about you, Professor Lupin. There always will be. Don't lose the faith.'

Then Harry made the fastest of exits, swooping out of the chair and through the double doors at the other end of the corridor before Remus could react.

Remus sat there for a full minute before what the strange boy had said sunk in. In that most hazy of moments, it seemed to make sense. Later, when Remus would recall the meeting that at times became lost in the midst of chaos and grief that forever marred the late autumn of that fateful year, he acknowledged the boy as his voice of reason. The resemblance to James. The fact he somehow knew his name - and why exactly did he call him Professor? Did he know something he didn't? And then there were** those piercing green eyes that had the ability to expose a soul for all it was worth and wrap it back up in a golden thread. If he hadn't already felt like insanity was settling in, he would have sworn the boy was a Potter, some form of guardian angel sent down from above to knock some sense into him. He downed the remnants of his God-awful coffee, shook the encounter to the back of his mind and grabbed his coat to face the brunt of London's on-coming chill.******

***

Harry felt as if he'd been at the hospital for hours, absently searching the wards for recent intake** of casualties who may have been the one he was looking for. He was amazed by how unfazed the nurses were by his presence, some simply staring right though him as if he didn't exist. Harry figured there must have been more to this little jaunt of time travel than he had first banked on. Whoever had put the charm on that hourglass did a pretty fine job.**

He'd lost count of how many people he had spoken to, but he was hedging his bets that he'd examined every avenue contained in the corridors of Charing Cross hospital. He'd be lucky to find another victim of the explosion that was functioning effectively enough to tell the difference between a dog and a rat.

Harry wandered up to one last room, darker than the others, and peered through the glass. He pressed his nose right up against the surface as he looked in, cooling his scar on the frosted glass as he observed a young woman curled up tightly in a ball with her back to the window. She wasn't moving - Harry could only just make out her shoulders gently falling with each breath, each one slightly out of sync with the previous. She was crying. Her hair, luxurious mahogany curls, was crawling across the pillow like a sea of spiders and beginning to tangle, like a well groomed beauty gone to seed overnight. Harry was captivated for an instant by this wild form, like an animal kept in a zoo feeling restrained by whatever injury had been bestowed upon her. Harry shook his head sadly.

He was about to back away when the ward sister caught up with him, gently tapping him on the shoulder as he finally drew away his gaze. 'You can go talk to her, if you like.' She smiled, obviously mistaking Harry for a friend or relative. He looked at her, eyebrows raised in a figure of disbelief as she nodded reassuringly and then stalked off toward the nurse's station. Harry turned to look through the window again. The woman hadn't moved, but her breathing had become a little more regular. Taking the deepest of breaths, he pushed against the door and entered.

Harry could've sworn that the hideous smell of anti-septic that formed the main scent of a hospital was more poignant in this room. Harry's stomach churned for the umpteenth time that day as he finally released his breath, satisfied that no one was going to stop him as he perched quietly at the woman's beside. He leant back against the plastic covers and stared on, thinking, and allowed the darkness to engulf and calm him after the chaos of the day.

After a while, he stood up, paced to the end of the bed, and began to flick through the doctor's notes. Typically written in an untidy scrawl that was worse that Ron's, he couldn't make out a word in the moonlight the room had descended into. Apprehensively, he returned to his seat at the near side of the bed and leaned over to flick on the light. The bulb glowed ominously, the light that flooded from it illuminating the room immensely, but failing to stir its now dozing occupant. Harry frowned a little at the lack of her reaction, but soon turned his attention to her notes.

'Claudia Darlington,' he whispered out loud, quietly as if any unwelcome noise would expel all peace and tranquillity that seemed to exist in this room alone. 'Age: 25. Accelerated macular degeneration caused by…' Then he paused, frowning further at the notes but not because they scrawl had become illegible. 'Entities unknown. Patient complains of burning pain behind eyes due to light over-exposure. Vision response zero. Recommended over-night supervision and pain immobilisers. Admission date and time, 2/11/81, 11:30 am.' And in brackets, quietly noted in the corner of the admission slip, were the words 'Covent Garden Gas Explosion.'

Harry gulped. This was it. Victim number thirty-six. The one the Ministry failed to account for. Yet despite the answers to his queries lying right there in front if him, he could not compel himself to disturb her slumber. If she really hadn't been memory charmed, then the pure bafflement that would be dominating her mind must have been soul crushing. Magic for Muggles was an element of fiction, used to manipulate the mind into wonderful tales of fantasy that enthralled their imaginations into wishing it were real. And to only be introduced to the darker end of the tale would be enough to disturb even the most steady of rocks.

Suddenly, the woman, Claudia, stirred a little and rolled over onto her back, facing the ceiling with a blank expression on her face. Harry gasped. Her face lacked any form of colour at all, cast in a shade of ghastly white compared to what it may have held the previous morning. Bandages had been cruelly taped across her eyes, its their holdings wrapped tightly around her head pushing the skin back against her skull, leaving a little indentation where the dressing had slipped. He couldn't tell whether she was asleep or awake, her restraints unfairly destroying her right to show her level of consciousness. 

'Hello?' she whispered suddenly into the darkened air, timidly as if she was a stranger to the sound of her own voice. 'Is there someone there? I can feel you're there…'

'Yes,' Harry found himself saying, pulling his chair closer to her bed. 'Hey there.'

Claudia smiled, a little amused. 'I haven't got the faintest who you are.'

'That's not important right now,' said Harry, suddenly feeling compelled to take hold of her hand and give it a reassuring squeeze. He could feel the magic in her, and he was sure she could do the same. He paused for a moment. 'Can you guess?' ****

He felt Claudia rub his hand between her fingers, each nail delicately painted red but interspersed with dust and debris. He allowed her hand to move slowly up the sleeve of his shirt, and didn't even wince as she began to feel the features of his face. The expression on her own face was hard to read: Slightly dazed but ever so intrigued by what Harry was offering her as her hand continued to wander. She traced his chin line, beginning to square with his on-going maturity, and he felt the natural progression as the finger arched past his ear and settled over his scar. There she paused; her finger lingering for an instant before she suddenly yanked it away as if it were burning.

'You're… you're one of _them,' she spat out nervously. Harry sensed her tightening up._

'What do you mean Claudia,' he said in reply. 'One of _them?'_

'One of them… like the men in the quad. I can feel it.'

'Can you tell me their names?'

Harry knew he was pushing it. But there was a sudden sense of desperation that had attached itself to his heart, bullying him to ask the questions necessary for the cause.

'Sirius,' she said, as confidently as she would state her own name. Harry felt his heart sink. Did she believe he did it? Had she not seen anything? But then…

'He didn't do it.'

'Do what?' Harry whispered, barely able to believe it.

'He didn't blow up the quad. There was another man there. Small. Round. Rat-like.' She paused and shuddered involuntarily. 'He did it. Sirius is innocent.'

Harry breathed a huge sigh of relief, the nerves that had been building up inside him flowing out with the tide. But he knew that wouldn't be enough to convince the jury. He had to get the full picture in all its illustrated glory. He gulped again.

'Claudia, could you tell me what happened?'

She paused herself, and turned to face him in the dark. In the half-light of the lamp she looked like a formidable force, someone who, in full capacity of their abilities, you would never dare to cross. The contrast of her hair with her rapidly paling face made her look increasingly powerful. And with the information she was holding, Harry thought she knew it.

'Why should I tell you?' she suddenly snapped, a flash of anger passing across her frowned expression. 'You're just a little boy. You don't know anything. You don't even know me.' She suddenly sat up, agitated, and started fumbling around in the dark. 'I'm going to call one of the nurses and…'

But Harry was too quick for her. As she reached out for the call button, he grabbed her arm in a vice-like grip and tightened his hold with cold fingers. She turned and gave him an ice like stare as she used her other hand to trace his scar again.

'You want to know why?' Harry said, his voice more bitter than he'd ever felt it. He didn't know where the words were coming from, but he was so desperate he needed to shock. 'You want to know why I want to catch my parent's killer?'

She froze at this statement, and lowered her arm from its position poised to summon help. He instantly released her, the offending limb falling to the bed as if robbed of all energy and emotion. Harry could feel her eyes upon him, defeating that sensual boundary the spell had created and demanding answers just as he was. He sat back in the chair again and sighed.

'The rounded man in the quad,' he said slowly, 'was responsible for the death of my parents. He betrayed them. They were murdered on his information. His name is Peter Pettigrew.'

The thoughts were going round and round in Claudia's head, as Harry was able to make out a dawning of a possibility on her weary face. She then spoke hoarsely.

'Your parents…' she stuttered, 'Lily and James?'

Harry hung his head, letting the silence do the talking. She began to whisper to herself, muttering ideas over and over out loud, but barely audible to Harry's straining ears. She suddenly sat up defiantly, ready to talk. Harry gazed at her expectantly as she spoke.

'I was sitting in the quad. There was a dog, a big, black,** soppy beast. He seemed to be watching for something. And then when I turned away the dog wasn't there.' She breathed heavily, thinking hard, back past the blaze of blinding light to retrieve the last of her visual memories. 'There was a man instead - tall, dark, pale eyes - he knew what he was doing. He'd spotted the round-faced man - Pettigrew, did you say? - on the other side of the quad. I saw them having words. The dark haired man was angry, so, so angry…' Harry could sense by the state of her voice that tears were screaming to escape her.******But they were shut away behind the bandages, restrained by the material she now clawed at frantically with her curled up fingers. She moaned quietly in frustration.

'Here,' said Harry softly, leaning forward to undo the clasp at the side of her head. He unwound the dressing slowly, agonisingly, until all that remained were the pads concealing her eyes. He reached up to peel them off, but she batted his hand away as she reached to do it herself. Harry could make out what looked like burns across her eyelids and under her lower lashes, although she kept them closed and screwed up in a kind of self imposed agony for the rest of the tragic tale. She held the bandages in her hands.

'I can sense his emotions even now, like nothing I'd ever felt before. He felt upset more than anything else. He had his own grief to deal with, and this was his chosen method. He was vengeful. But he never got his wish. The round man was unusually devious. He pushed Sirius away from him, stumbled into the middle of the crossroads, and started accusing him. Screaming like a mad man. He hadn't even been provoked. He wailed 'Lily and James, Sirius! How could you!' but then behind his back, he had this stick, long, black, polished with white tips. He muttered something in Latin - I didn't understand it. And all I can remember after that is the light. The light, the burning, the…' she looked down in her lap for a moment, and appeared to be concentrating deeply, her head almost shaking with the effort. Harry could make out her eyelids flickering in the darkened gloom of the room, as if each had their own stupendous weight to hold. But then she looked up.

Harry wouldn't have been able to say anything, even if he wanted to. Claudia's eyes were wide open now, and were the most mystical sight he'd ever encountered. All colour was now absent from the irises, which had sunken into the snowy white of the rest of the eye, ice-like but trapped within by her long, dark lashes. They were piercing and emotionless, like never ending glaciers of ice winding their way across her gaze, ever to block it with the fading of the colour. They were tragically beautiful. However, she looked as if she would faint with the effort of keeping them open, so Harry quietly picked up the pads from her open hands and covered them up again. He began to wind the bandage back round her head and was not met with a single protest. It was as if the effort of telling the tale had drained Claudia of the power of speech. Finishing the length and fastening it with a flourish, he gently lowered her back down into the bed and stood back for a moment, just watching her silent form. Her breathing was steady now, sleepy even. She'd played her role, for now.

'Thank you…' he whispered. He quietly slipped the front page of the doctor's notes into the pocket of his jacket and** was just about to open the door when she spoke again.**

'What were they?' she muttered through the darkness before unconsciousness enveloped her again. 'What are you? Wands and spells and transformations…'****

Harry wandered slowly over to the bed and took her hand again.** 'You'll find out in due course, Claudia,' he whispered. 'And then you'll be in the middle of it. Magic has its way of coming through to you. I'm magic, they are magic. You too are magic in your own way. Enjoy your ignorance - there's going to be a real battle ahead, and you'll need all the energy you have to get through it.'**

And then he was gone.

Years afterwards, it was widely acknowledged that Claudia could recall very little in the hours after the accident. She reported being vaguely aware of having a visitor, a young boy with reassuring words, yet hinting at the fact that more was still to come. And - she mentioned this to no one - she never really understood how she came into the possession of a long black rod of wood. It was there at her beside when she first came into the hospital, which for now she rolled over and clutched unknowingly in her sleep. She was unaware of the power it held within. It just became something that was always there.

***

Arabella calmed down tremendously once she had a large scotch in her hand.** Listening to Sirius' tale, she absently swirled the golden liquid around in her glass, letting it glide gently across the ice melting it in the process, which Remus secretly thought to himself as being a complete waste of a quality tonic.**** Sirius had spoken at great length before silence engulfed him, the legend spun, and she downed her drink in one inelegant gulp.**

'You expect me to believe this little fantasy, do you?' she said quietly, raising one eyebrow out of the suspicion that she had a convicted murderer now sprawled across her flower patterned settee. She stood up and put her drink to rest on the side table. 'After all these years, you come waltzing back in here without a care in the world like _One Man and his Dog and expect me to welcome you with arms wide open? Do you?'_

Sirius hung his head low like a naughty schoolboy, while Remus looked at her, mouth slightly agape. 'What are you saying, Arabella? You don't believe us?'

'What I'm saying…' she said sharply, striding over to the cabinet, removing a piece of parchment and pouring a few more drinks. 'Is that it's damn lucky I received this notification from Dumbledore the other day, which confirms what you've just recalled word for word.' She held the incriminating document aloft, smirking. 'It was nice to see you squirm though.' 

'Why you little…' flushed Remus, colour actually creeping into his face as Sirius doubled over laughing. He couldn't help but join in. 'Always the wind up merchant, aren't you?'

'Hey, it keeps me sane…' she replied, screwing the lid back on the Scotch bottle and handing a glass to Remus. 'Here, looks like you're in more need of it than me.'

Remus smiled and accepted the glass gratefully, finally sitting back and relaxing a little. The three friends sat in silence, each indulging in their own thoughts of the tale passed before them. It was obvious Arabella wasn't used to being out of persona, and the toll the spell had taken was apparent. Wrinkles remained in her hands, still a little shaky like a woman twice her age as she continued to grip her glass and sigh heavily. Then the thought occurred that they had all aged, in some way or other. Sirius looked ready to fall asleep right there among the home-knitted settee throws. His face had regained much of the shape lost in his years at Azkaban but the haunted look still remained. It chilled Remus to look at him sometimes, especially in moments of rage or doubt, when the emotionless existence he occupied in his prison took over his face like a shadow of a darker past. This image wasn't helped by the fact that he continued to wear his hair in its longer state, a little scrappy round the ears like some sort of loveable rogue, which Remus supposed was the look that Sirius was after. However, the reassuring twinkle of the marauder of his youth still lingered in his sunken eyes, taking every opportunity to rear its ugly head. And it wasn't as if the years hadn't beaten Remus down at all - quite the contrary. His light brown locks had been edged with silver for a while now, the monthly insomnia being non-negotiable and having even more impact in his middle age. He was fully aware of the gaunt expression he wore and the reaction it received, often sympathetic, as if he was in a constant state of mourning. That wasn't exactly the case. He was merely holding on tight to all he had left.

'So, Dumbledore wants to get the Secret Seven back into action, does he?' said Arabella, breaking the silence.

'You always had a way with words, didn't you Babs?' smirked Sirius, ducking to avoid the cushion she now banished in his general direction.

'I wasn't good at charms for nothing!' she muttered before Remus could get to the point.

'I think our dear old Headmaster has decided it's ripe to resurrect the Order, considering current events...' he said officially, finishing his drink with a professional air.

'Ah yes, dear Harry,' she said, looking down at her delicately clad feet.

'How's he holding up?' asked Remus.

'I'm honestly not sure,' said Arabella regretfully. 'You know how hard it was for me to negotiate my way in there to begin with? It's just so lucky this post with the Ministry came up at the same time.' 

'Sorry Babs,' interrupted Sirius, curiosity plastered all over his face, 'please remind this old dog exactly what you're doing dressed as a 1930's reject?'

She smiled in reply. 'Muggle observing. Examine the latest trends, what's hot and what's not, you know, keeping tabs on things from a civilian point of view…'

'… As an old biddy?'

'I pulled the short straw. It's fascinating stuff. Beats any lecture from Professor Stafford hands down. Anyway,' she returned to addressing the original inquiry, 'it meant I could keep an eye on Harry, but it was horrible, I'll tell you that. I couldn't tell him anything because of his stupid guardians - they're the biggest pair of Muggles this side of the Atlantic and would have burned me at the stake if they really knew the deal. Since Harry started at Hogwarts, they've been shutting him up like the family secret. He's lucky to see the light of day sometimes. Occasionally he's over but I haven't wanted to blow my cover. Nearly came unstuck the other day though…' she continued, going off on a tangent. 'Petunia had left him with me when she was going up to the craft shop to get some material to make Dudley's knickerbockers when I got that owl from Dumbledore. I had to shut the poor beast up in the central heating cupboard until he went home. Just told the boy that the boiler was on the brink.'

'You know,' said Remus slowly, 'he'll find out sooner or later.'

'But if I'm going back to help out Dumbledore, that simply won't be an issue,' she said, a sly grin edging over her features. 'Old Mrs Figg can have a little accident…'

'Oh now Arabella, that's just plain nasty…'

'I know.'

She grinned as Remus and Sirius rolled their eyes. For a moment, they could have been back in the Gryffindor common room, sipping at a stolen supply of Butterbeer got with a little help from Prongs and the gang, the fire gently lilting in the corner as they let the end of the day wash over them. However with every action and word there were horrible reminders of those missing from their number. Remus smiled grimly to himself just as the shrill ring of the telephone brought them all back to reality.

'Excuse me a sec,' said Arabella over its scream, ignoring the fact that the sound had made Remus jump right out of his skin and Sirius almost fall onto the floor in mirth. She was back almost instantly.

'Well, that was short and sweet,' said Sirius, beginning to smile. But that expression soon faded when he was met with the rare appearance of a serious look from Arabella.

'What's wrong?' whispered Remus.

'That was Petunia on the phone,' she replied quietly. 'It's Harry. He's gone AWOL.'

***

To be continued…


	4. Solutions and Screams

Dis: The universe of Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling, and is used here without her permission. I acknowledge that I have no rights to any cannon characters, settings or events mentioned. I have no intention and no desire to make profit from this piece, as the credit deserves to go to JK Rowling as she invented them and thus owns all rights to them. Not me. Got it? Good. But I own any original characters.****

**Chapter Three: Solutions and Screams**

Hermione rolled over in her sleep and tried to get comfortable. However she didn't think that sleep was the most appropriate word to describe her current physical state. She found herself floating somewhere in the region between sleep and awake, where you want nothing less than the sandman to hit you with all he's got and whisk you away to a more peaceful place. But Hermione knew that it wasn't going to happen.

She opened her eyes as they slowly adjusted to the dimmed light and surveyed her room with an outsider's gaze. This was the room she grew up in. This was the room where once upon a time she'd been deposited on her first night home from the hospital, a baby wrapped in white woollen blankets as silent as a new-born lamb, so she'd been told. The room where she'd first discovered the joys of Dickens, Austen and Wells, curled up in the wicker chair in the corner, her father's voice bellowing through the rafters for her to turn that blasted light off and get some sleep. The room she retired to when she was sick, when she needed to do her homework or just get away from the world. But as she gazed across its feminine colours so late into the night, it had never felt more alien to her.

She found it strange to have a room to herself after sharing for the best part of the year. The snores and grunts of her fellow Gryffindors sleeping soundly across the floor had become the natural noises of the night to her, and it was only now she felt lost without them. Her parents had not addressed the restlessness that greeted them in the form of their daughter after she departed from the train at the end of term, and she was extremely glad of it. The inevitable 'How did it go, dear?' questions had been kept to a minimum, her mother using her woman's instinct to sense that some things were best left unsaid. Hermione certainly didn't like the idea of explaining what happened as a consequence of the Triwizard Tournament. They wouldn't understand. And as for Bulgaria - it was simply out of the question.

She remembered with a grimace trying to put it all into words as she caught up with her Muggle friends, those who had no idea as to what her 'Private school' entailed. They still showed concern after she explained away the miracle of dentistry upon her teeth without the need to mention Malfoy or Madam Pomfrey. They knew that she was hiding something. She hated all the secrecy but knew that now, more than ever, everything depended on it. But there was no way she could effectively convey to them the unnerving sense of dread that had settled in her chest, eclipsing everything in its wake. Her isolation from the wizarding world right then only heightened it.

There was only one thing for it. She pulled back the covers, swung her pyjama clad legs off the bed and strode over to her desk, switching on the little reading lamp to start on that Transfiguration essay. She sat for a moment, imagining the reactions of her friends to the idea of her midnight study urges. Ron would simply roll his eyes in his usual sarcastic manner, and mutter some comment or other that could only come from a Weasley. Harry would join in the eye rolling, but show another form of concern as to her inability to sleep, looking at her through his black rimmed glasses, more like a brother than a friend. Somehow older, wiser, more aware of the world and the horrors it held. Always the protector. Hermione just worried how far that would take him.

But as she heard the doorbell ring loudly into the night, causing minimal reaction from her parent's bedroom, she knew the answer wouldn't be that far away. She frowned, put down her quill and swung her dressing gown over her shoulders as she descended the stairs to answer to door. Little did she know that the answer was the other side of it.

***

Harry hadn't realised how dark it had got outside while he was under the artificial lighting of the Accident and Emergency department. As he descended its steps into the darkness of central London, it hit him now unlikely this situation would have seemed just a few years ago. He was only fifteen. Most of his peers could be found out with their friends now, or simply at home enjoying the last few years of their carefree existence before the horror of responsibility was bestowed upon their heads. But as Harry was finding increasingly obvious, normality just wasn't in his vocabulary. No matter how much he wanted to deny it, or how much he wanted to throw down the towel and go through his life by the usual channels of teenage angst, there were just too many scars reminding him of what still needed to be done. What he felt he needed to do. He was Harry Potter. People depended on him. He depended on himself.

He rubbed his arm wearily as he felt his feet take him along the street, not noting his direction at all. He could trace the tear under his shirt where the knife has pierced him not even two months ago, its sharp metallic teeth ripping his skin and drawing the life force of his foe from his very own blood. Yet another scar he carried, and he knew it wouldn't be the last. He'd accustomed himself to the newfound shyness that had engulfed his peers in the last few days of his fourth year. Even when the explanations came out, the stares that accompanied his departure from Platform nine and three quarters continued. But he knew what lay in those stares, ranging from their genuine concern to outright fear. Expectation. People honestly believed a fifteen year-old boy would be able to stop the oncoming apocalypse. And with an expectation like that, he'd had to grow up fast.

He hadn't noticed at all where his feet were carrying him, for indeed it had only felt like moments after he'd left the warmth of the hospital he found himself on the banks of the Thames. The domineering buildings of Parliament Square lay silently behind him as he strode out to the middle of the bridge and looked downstream. The water was chopping at the supports of the metalwork, lapping fiercely like that of a vicious mongrel, the water's white teeth bared and pouncing playfully at the bridge's supports as Harry gazed absently at the sea of tiny lights that made up the city of London. The city, as it was, asleep on the night of 2nd of November 1981, wasn't where he was supposed to be. 

He felt in his pocket and produced what he'd come to suppose was some form of highly advanced Time-Turner. Harry was certain that in the fading dusk it seemed renewed, the mahogany casing gleaming in the moonlight as he held it up for examination, trying to remember what actions had cast the enchantment to land him in this situation to begin with. Tempus. The word echoed in his weary brain, still dazed and cloudy with the sights and stories the unusual day had brought. Tempus. It was Latin for something. Time. He'd said it, turning the item over in his hands in order to read the engraved lettering from the timer's wooden base. He'd turned it and** uttered the incantation. He felt a growl of aggravation deepen in his throat, his grip on the Time-Tuner tightening as he restrained his arm from arching back to throw it in the water. Instead, his grip crushed it dangerously, the glass threatening to fracture beneath his trembling fingers as he felt an unfounded rage boil inside of him at the essence of his stupidly. But just as suddenly he loosened his hold, the calmness of the night taking him now as he let the offending instrument dangle precariously from the tip of a finger, swinging in the air over the darkened water of the Thames. There was only one thing for it. He closed his eyes and turned it over.**

'Tempus…'

***

'What do you mean, AWOL?'

Remus leapt out of his seat, eyes as wide as the moon at that time of the month as he gasped at Arabella, herself busy in a drawer at the burgundy dresser covered in delicately rose clad bone China. She didn't turn to answer.

'AWOL. Absent without leave. Missing in action. Done a runner. Scarpered.'** She placed a few metallic items on the counter before finally facing Remus. 'Do I need to spell it out to you?'**

Sirius took over from Arabella's sharpened tones, as he saw Remus' lip begin to curl in a way hardly ever seen on the werewolf's face. It somehow reminded him of Snape. 'Remus, calm** down. Petunia has probably forgotten that she's locked him in the basement, poor lad...'**

The instruments Arabella had produced began to make an array of noises, not sounding unlike a collection of tower ravens after an unfortunate execution. Little silver balls were swirling unaided in the air above a large gleaming plate, humming merrily to themselves as Arabella frowned, following the sparkling tracks they left in the air that descended onto the surface of the dish. She wasn't very happy.

'I'm not getting any readings of his Veneficuim trail…' she muttered, moving from one instrument to another, the frown not evaporating from her normally mischievous features. The new look didn't suit her. 'And I hadn't noticed anything in my Foe-Glass either…'

'And did you leave anything in your office after handing in your resignation?'

She glanced at Sirius, fixing him with an unsmiling stare. 'You never know when they may come in handy. Mad-Eye was hardly going to miss them.'

The men continued to watch the ex-Auror at work, scuttling between instruments and consulting various measures with the precision of a skilled scientist. She narrowed her eyes occasionally, conclusions forming in her mind as the clogs mentally clicked into place. Sirius was taken slightly with how adaptable Arabella was. One moment she could be an inconspicuous old lady, quietly living out her widowed retirement in a peaceful Surrey village, the next she was back in her stride, whizzing around her instruments as if she hadn't been a day off the beat. No wonder the Auror Association was lost without her. She knew her stuff. But Remus continued to steam.

'That boy is too much his father's son sometimes!' he raged uncharacteristically, beginning to pace up and down Arabella's flower laden living room. The strain was obviously getting to him. 'What does he think he's playing at, wandering off like this when there's so much at stake? Dumbledore told him to stay at the Dursleys for the time being, and he wouldn't put Harry through all that unless he had good reason! Otherwise Dumbledore would let him leave for that Ron Weasley's house before you could say Avada Kedavra!'

'Well, unless he's disappeared off the face of the earth, I suggest that's our first port of call.' Both Sirius' companions raised a collective eyebrow at the use of the plural. 'Its OK, Molly and Arthur are perfectly aware of my situation.' He added sheepishly. 'Although I must admit that poor old Molly didn't take it very well…'

'Expect you could hear the scream on the other side of Hogsmeade….'

'Anyway,' cut in Arabella, ignoring the antics of her comrades. 'We have a situation here. Harry's flounced off to who knows where, and judging by the speed of that owl which has just descended onto my back patio, I'd hedge my bets that the Phoenix will be a little delayed.'

As Arabella pottered through the living room, along by her lace-covered dining table to open the back door, Sirius stared hard at his friend. 'Remus,' he said slowly. 'You didn't see Harry at the end of last year, did you? ' Remus shook his head. 'You didn't see how shaken up he was. How badly he'd taken it. He blames himself you know.'

Remus shook his head harder. 'He couldn't have done anything - '

Sirius continued to stare. 'I know that. You know that. Damn near everyone in the school and half the Ministry are perfectly aware of that. But that won't change the anxiety that forms in the mind of your typical adolescent, and with this one, I think, doubt will be on the rampage. He wouldn't want to do anything that would put him, his friends, even us in danger. He's perfectly aware of what's at stake. He's got the scars to prove it.' 

'I just don't know how he copes, you know?' replied Remus timidly.

'He's had to grow up fast. And I wouldn't wish that on anybody. But the problem now lies in that Gryffindor mentality to save mankind at every turn. He may not be hot on You-Know-Who's heels now, but it wouldn't surprise me if he was trying to tip the balance in our favour.'

'Lets just hope he stays in his depth.'

Sirius didn't reply to this last comment, instead watching Arabella scan the crinkled parchment and put it to one side, her face set in a determined grimace as she continued to produce her wizarding life from every nook and cranny. He pinched his nose wearily, taking over from Remus' pacing as he helped Arabella collect her gear. This was more than he needed at the moment. He didn't know what Harry was playing at, whether he'd simply had enough of the Dursleys or whether something more sinister was at play, but he knew one thing for sure - Harry was tough. Just like James. They'd have to beat him senseless for a year and a day before they'd get so much as a peep out of that boy. But Sirius wouldn't even put that past some of the Death Eaters he'd known.

'Got him! Thirteen clicks south east of Mayfair and on the move…'

Sirius snapped out of his trance-like daze as Arabella seemed to pack up the room with a simple gesture. She turned to the dog and raised an eyebrow questioningly.

'Still got that motorbike?'

***

'Harry!'

Hermione hadn't even noticed it was raining. But now it was horribly apparent in the form of this skinny black haired dish mop that stood on the doorstep manifesting as her friend. He smiled weakly at her greeting, not at all disheartened by the mixture of emotions that were gracing her face, ranging from amazement to outright annoyance.

'Hey Hermione,' he chattered through his frozen teeth. 'Long time no see?'

She shook her frizzy head in dismay. 'Come on in, you'll catch a cold.'

Stepping back, she allowed the drowning figure to come into the hall, wiping his feet politely on the mat as he entered. He looked paler than when they'd last parted back at King's Cross, thinner even, the soaking to the skin the summer downpour had bestowed on him doing little for his fragile frame. He looked at Hermione with tired eyes, gleaming emerald in the darkness of the doorway somewhat brighter than anything else in the picture. She supposed they had seen things that had only haunted her nightmares. She stood, captivated by an image that would never have entered her mind previously, and it seemed so out of context. Her witchery, her school, her friends, they just didn't seem to fit into her home life, that perfectly ordinary country cottage in that perfectly ordinary Kentish village. She was sure Harry had used the same expression to describe Privet Drive, but it still was the last place you'd expect anything unusual to happen. And the last thing she'd envisioned that night when she'd reached for her quill was to find the centre of that other life standing in her hall in the dark.

'Hermione…' he said hoarsely, a voice nervous with the cold that sent Hermione's nerves dangerously jangling on edge. '… Are you going to turn the light on?'

She actually considered this for a moment, then shook her head and beckoned him to follow in the silence. She brought a finger to her lips, and for a moment she held the same expression she'd had the first time they'd made a bid for Sirius' freedom, back in the muffled light of Madam Pomfrey's hospital wing. She still held that same petrified look she had back then, an expression close to the stillness that engulfed her via the basilisk's stare, as the pair of them crept deeper into the house. But they weren't thirteen any more. It felt as if an age had passed in the space of a year, the reality of the adult world taking Hogwarts in his grasp with a metal fist. As they finally reached what looked in the darkness like a homely kitchen, the issue seemed to rise between them as to how much more sacrificing she was prepared to do.

'Sit!' she instructed in a harsh whisper, taking a pew on the opposite side of the wooden table top to where Harry was standing, looking a little bewildered. 'We need to keep quiet. My parents are asleep upstairs…'

Harry tilted his head back a little in realisation and began to make to stand up. 'Maybe this can wait for the morning then…'

Hermione's eyes flash with an indescribable emotion as she grabbed his arm across the wooden tabletop to prevent him making his bid to escape. They held the position for an instant, her eyes firmly fixed on his and burning a hole right through to his subconscious, screaming not to let the sleeping dogs lie.

'Harry,' she whispered with a spit, gripping his arm tighter. 'Don't think you can turn up at goodness knows what hour of the morning without any indication of an explanation!'

He let his arm hang loose for an instant before laying it to rest in front of her watchful eyes. Hermione immediately felt a surge of guilt wash over her for scolding him so. He wouldn't be here without good reason, she reminded herself as she collected a couple of glasses of milk to put out for her guest. He looked as though he'd been to hell and back. It wouldn't have surprised her if that statement were more than accurate.

Harry hung his head even lower as he made out to speak. Hermione however got there first. 'Look, I'm sorry if I snapped…'

'No,' he said, a little too loudly for her comfort as she placed the drinks upon the table. This must have shown on her face as he dutifully lowered his tones. 'You're right. It's been a long day.'

Hermione gazed at him expectantly, watching Harry take a gulp of his drink and sighed heavily before he continued. He fixed her with that emerald stare again.

'I found her.'

'Who?'

'The witness.'

Hermione's expression slowly changed as the inevitable formed on her lips. 'How?'

She wasn't being one for small talk - after all, it was the early hours of the morning. He felt around in his pocket and produced the two items that had effectively moulded the most unusual of days. She took immediate interest in the crumpled paper, almost ripping it apart as she opened it to examine its scrawl in the dimmed moonlight, her eyes widening as she tried to decipher the doctor's illegible writings.

'Claudia Darlington,' Harry recited, closing his eyes and appearing to dive into memory, 'saw everything. She saw Sirius transform from his Animagi form, saw him confront Wormtail, and the wand behind Peter's back. She heard him cast the spell. She saw the explosion. She saw no more.'

'Literally,' said Hermione, frowning at the notes as Harry brought her up to speed. 'The poor woman. It must have been awful for her. So confusing…'

Harry didn't say anything for a while, feeling a lump begin to form in his throat as he remembered Claudia's struggling whines as she clawed her bandages. The lack of colour across her irises as if she'd lost the key to her soul. The smell of her fear and apprehension. Harry swallowed stiffly as Hermione suddenly glanced up.

'Accelerated macular degeneration?' she questioned, frowning back down at the notes and up again. 'That's impossible. These notes completely contradict each other.' She quickly got up, her chair scraping hideously loud across the stone tiled floor as she walked quickly over to a bookcase. Harry smiled, the expression strangely alien upon his face as he watched her arrive back with a rather ominous looking volume.

'When in doubt, go to the library!' he quoted fondly. Hermione smirked.

'I can't see anything in this light!' she moaned quietly. Before she could rectify the situation, Harry had produced his wand, muttered 'Lumos' and allowed the blackened rod to omit a soft glow of white light. Hermione looked at him disapprovingly.

'Hey,' he whispered with a smile. 'They let me blow up my Aunt two summers ago. I'm hardly going to be thrown into Azkaban for this.'

Hermione looked at him doubtfully for a moment, but soon her tensed-up shoulders sank and she turned her attention back to the text. 'Yes, yes…' she said. 'I was right. When compared to her symptoms, burning behind her eyes, bright light and so on, it would seem more common for a burnt retina to be the source, but no…' She shut the book with a thump, throwing away with it any trust she had maintained with Muggle certainty. 'Pettigrew's curse. It must have been some sort of killing curse that speeded up a process of degeneration. Aged the organs. I'd bet anything she was on the outskirts of the blast zone and so only her vision was affected… you've got an address in here and everything, Harry…' she looked at him with astonishment, the expression then merging between something like concern and intrigue. The question finally arrived. 'How did you do it?'

He tapped the Time-Turner twice on its head, causing a couple of grains of sand to trickle into its base. Hermione glanced at him, the desire for answers burning fiercely in her eyes.

'Its been one of those days…'

***

'Claudia, now you're just being paranoid…'

Lucy sighed angrily at her sister, making Claudia fully aware at her built up frustration over how ridiculous she was being. Instead, she continued to listen to her rants and ravings.

'I swear, it was _him!' she hissed through her hands, currently shielding her paler than normal face as she leant heavily on the kitchen table. 'I recognised the voice! High pitched, desperate like, squeaked like a rat. Whimpering almost. If I hadn't known any better I would have felt sorry for the scumbag…'_

'So you're telling me…' said Lucy slowly, as if her sister had truly lost the plot. 'That you were down the town picking up some food bits and you passed the man who you think blinded you in the street? And you totally freaked out at the sound of his voice, did a runner and now you're convinced he's after you?'

Claudia shook a little, muffling a sob into her hands as she tried desperately to cry, the dryness of her eyes becoming more frustrating by the minute as she wiped away an imaginary tear. Just this once, she longed it to be there. 'You don't understand…'

'Yes I do bloomin' well understand!' screeched Lucy, standing up in despair. 'I understand that you got a little merry on the happy pills and now seeking vengeance on the horror of British Gas. Claudia, this is just getting ridiculous.' She walked across the room and took Claudia by the shoulders, the tears of anguish now entering her strained voice. 'There was a gas explosion. No wands, no magic, no people turning into little fluffy animals at a blink of an eye. There is no scapegoat, Claudia. You can't blame all this on things that simply aren't there. This needs to stop now.' 

Lucy was shaking now, the grip she had on Claudia's shoulders tightening in her desperation, shaking her as well. She paused for an instant, searching her sister's face for any indication that her words were sinking in. Claudia could feel her stare. And awarded her with the same blank expression she's been wearing for fourteen years. Claudia's voice sank to an urgent whisper.

'But its true…' she said, her voice moaning with a frustration of her own. 'It's all true. It was the last thing I ever saw, it's clearer than anything else. Your face, Mum and Dad, this house, the images all fail to compare with that one. It was as if I could sense every step, every voice with an extra edge of clarity. I remember every little detail, and believe me, I just came across the man who blinded me. And killed all those people. He's a murderer.'

'Claudia,' Lucy muttered, 'you're scaring me…'

'Not as much as I am myself.'

'Then why are you doing this!?!' Lucy wailed, letting go of Claudia and letting her head hang low, shaking in disbelief. 'Why are you putting yourself through this? I mean it's hard enough on Paul and me at the best of times, but just think about what you're doing to yourself!'

At this, Claudia leapt out of her seat, physically seething with anger. 'Do you think I'm enjoying this? Do you honestly think I made all this up? That I pretend to lie awake for hours on end as someone else's memories have a bachelor party in my head? Do you think I pretend to hear the screams? And do you, Lucy, honestly believe I wanted all _this?'_

Her voice ended on a pitch of a piercing scream, enough to make Lucy leap back with a horror of her own, her hand clasped against her chest as she cringed at her sister's fuming. Claudia sank down in her seat again, the desperate tears welling up inside her desert like eyes, never wanting to escape even more than they did at that moment. No one ever believed her. No one ever did. She remembered in a flash as the silence engulfed them how hard it had been the first time around, trying to explain all she had seen and heard in her dreams. It hadn't made sense then, and it certainly didn't now. But somehow, for Claudia, deep within her heart, it was the only explanation there was, and the reason for her confused existence. For her, no other possibility could exist. For her, a man with a wand had muttered a spell and blown the street apart before her very eyes. She was quite surprised she'd lasted this long without at least one vacation in the straight jacket. Lucy's constant support, despite her suspicious nature, had probably been her one saving grace. But now even she had reached the end of her tether. 

'Look,' said Lucy, picking up her coat from the back of the chair and her keys with a jangle. 'My taxi is waiting. I'm going to pick up Paul from the airport…' Claudia frowned a little, but listened anyway. 'He rang earlier. Just before you came blundering back in fact. He managed to get an earlier flight, thank the lord…' she approached her sister again and held her frozen face in her hands. 'We're going to help you, Claudia,' she said softly, in tones that reminded Claudia strongly of her long gone mother's. 'We're going to get you through this, just like we did before. I'll be back soon. Try and get some rest.'

She kissed Claudia on the forehead and left, the door slamming behind her as she went. Claudia let her head sink slowly down and come to rest on the tabletop. She felt so tired, so drained that she knew sleep of any kind would not be at all rewarding. She knew the nightmares would come back, and the 'accidents' that accompanied them. She'd known for years. Ever since the quad, there had been something different about her, as if the blinding light had robbed her of her sight but awarded her something much, much deeper. She sighed dragged herself from her chair and began to ascend the stairs toward her room. She didn't hear the car door slam. She didn't hear her sister scream. She didn't hear the high-pitched screech of 'Stupefy!' and the speeding car moving in the opposite direction to the airport. For once in her life, she didn't hear anything at all.

***

As Harry wound up his tale, Hermione's eyes were beginning to droop wearily. Dawn had now broken, the blackbirds out in the Kentish hedgerows drumming up a racquet in their song as the sun peaked over the horizon and stretched out its arm like rays outside the tiny cottage window. Harry looked more tired than she was, his greying face not improved by the early morning light as he pulled absently at the cuffs of his sleeves. Hermione shook herself slightly to regain her normal focus.

'There's just one thing I don't get…' she said, allowing her voice to detract from its silent state as she heard her parents moving about upstairs. 'Who sent you this thing?'

She referred to the Time Turner as she picked it up from the table, examining it with an expert's eye. She squinted a little at its mahogany base, in a way that reminded Harry of the feeling that ebbed through him just twenty-four hours previously when Hedwig came bouncing through his window with the unexpected gift. But as she reached to turn it in her hands, he stood up abruptly and was about to protest when she caught his drift, almost dropping the hourglass on the table with shock at the look that graced his face. She looked for an explanation.

'That's how all of this started.' he reminded her. 'I was just looking at it, turned it over, and read the inscription on the bottom. It says 'Tempus'. I think its Latin for…'

'Time, yes I know…'

'And it must have been charmed to only work to word command. It was a deliberate set up.'

'But the question is, who would have done that? And why did it take you there, of all places? It's impossible to charm a timer to go to a certain point in history, so Professor McGonagall told me. It doesn't make sense. You say you only turned it once?' Harry nodded, as mystified as Hermione was as she confirmed the details for herself. She shook her head, openly baffled. It was a really momentous day when Hermione Granger didn't know the answer. But also a very frightening one. 

'I don't like this, Harry…' she muttered across the table. 'I don't like it one little bit. You're right, it's got to be a set up. But for what? This thing, despite the initial proclamation, has been more of a help than a hindrance. Is someone really trying to help us or are we just rising to the bait?' she stared back at her companion with a look of sheer desperation. 'Oh Harry, I don't think I know anything for sure these days…'

Harry tried his best at a reassuring smile as Hermione's head sank into her hands, the pang of pain he felt for her indescribable in her sorrowful state.

'You know what I reckon?' he said quietly, even though there truly was no need for secrets any more. Hermione looked up. 'You know what I think? I don't think Hedwig would've brought it to me if it were a risk. I don't think she'd be that easily fooled. I think it's the only thing we've got to go on. I just can't sit here and waste away the summer, Hermione. If I had then I would have locked myself in my room at the Dursleys all hours of the day and rocked myself slowly mad already. But I'm not like that.'

'Yes, well,' huffed Hermione, getting all motherly. 'I think we're perfectly aware of your need for bravado, Mr Potter. I just think it's a little suspect that's all.'

Harry continued with his thread. 'It wouldn't surprise me if this were just another invisibility cloak. Or another Firebolt. Or even a Marauder's map. What would life have been like if we didn't have them?' Harry was sure Hermione was thinking of a more peaceful, safe existence as a dreamy look of wishful thinking glazed her face. Harry ignored it. 'Sure they've caused their fair amount of frustration and trouble in their lives, but we'd never have done half as well without them. They've been a real godsend, despite the trauma.'

Hermione sighed. 'Maybe, Harry, maybe. But I've still got a feeling that our luck is about to run out. May I remind you of a certain little black book back in our second year? Or even a rather ornate wooden goblet that sparked off half this sorry mess? Magical objects aren't always our friend. It's just all too convenient.'

'Well, maybe that's a sign that we're going to get lucky again. Someone is easing up the game, and that's certainly overdue. Someone is smiling on us up there.'

She seemed to choose not to reply to Harry's optimism, instead tearing her gaze away from the hourglass that stood between them to focus on the clock that hung high on the oak-beamed wall. Harry just supposed she was so tired she couldn't take anything in, a similar feeling creeping into his veins as he closed his eyes wearily, desperately fighting off the desire to sleep. He'd been on a roller coaster of emotions in the past day and night, much of it he'd omitted from his tale to Hermione. He hadn't told her about Remus. That meeting was for him, and for him alone. He wasn't normally so secretive by nature, but he honestly thought now, of all days, not everything was best shared. He watched her again in the quiet rumble of the morning, her eyes not seeming to leave the second hand of the ancient clock as she counted down the seconds under her breath.

'Three… two… one…'

She turned in her seat as Harry jumped at the almighty crash that followed her countdown. Suddenly her pretty little kitchen was covered in a cloud of black and dirty soot, engulfing the whole room as they coughed and spluttered in its wake. The copper pots that had been hanging over the open fire now span dizzily on the floor, finishing their uncoordinated dance with a final clank as Harry finally cleared his vision to be met by the most welcoming sight he'd come across all summer.

'Hey Hermione,' said Ron, stumbling to his feet and wiping the soot off his own clothes as his pearly white grin shone out behind the grime. 'Harry! I didn't know you'd managed to escape! Oh well, no matter. That was one hell of an entrance, wasn't it? You really ought to clean that place out there, you know…'

'Did I mention…' said Hermione as she stood up next to Ron, ruffling his hair to reveal its flaming tones underneath the soot. 'That Ron would be dropping by sometime today?'

Harry grinned as he looked at his two best friends, trying to control the incredible urge to laugh. 'No, Hermione. I think that one must have slipped me by…'

And the three of them burst into the first fit of giggles for a long time as they set about clearing the devastation from the Floo Powder and filling Ron in on the Unknown Witness. 

***

Lucy had the world's worst headache. It started off behind her left temple, nothing more than a tickle underneath the skin and bone, but gradually became a pain that crept right across her brow and settled behind her eyes where no relief could reach. Her eyes remained tightly shut, screwing up against the agony as she felt herself being dragged to her feet, a daze of consciousness still waiting to be fully in her grasp. She felt like hell. She had no idea where she was, or any reasonable recollection of how she got there. But she knew to be afraid.

She felt any remaining energy ebb out of her limbs as her assailant pulled her to an upright state. He did this only for her to slouch right back down in return, gaining some muttered curses under his foul-smelling breath as he eventually was forced to half drag her behind him as they continued their journey on foot. All she could sense was that wherever they were, it was dark, damp, and about as far from Gatwick airport as Margate was Manhattan. She could hear her captor breathing in and out, his respiration coming in short spurts as he feebly struggled with her additional weight. He was almost wheezing as he plodded endlessly on, ignoring her groans as he desperately tried to reach his final destination. Whoever he was, for it was certainly a he, even the smell of him was enough to make her stomach turn. He felt cold, impossibly freezing as he held tightly to her wrist while dragging her along, as if something was stealing the very life force from his own body and replacing itself with something much darker. As she finally began to emerge from the darkness of the abyss, an equally dark sea of black met her. The aggressor seemed to be hiding beneath lengths of the black material, a hood concealing what she would have guessed to be a pale, heartless face hanging low over his features. He was almost like a sceptre of death itself, something glinting silver at his side and swinging through the air as he dragged her along and catching what little light there was as it trailed passed her sight. It seemed to weigh him down.

What struck her most however as they continued on their journey was the sheer amount of dread her captor was projecting. It was as if he was the one who was afraid. She could feel his fear shivering through his grip on her wrist, reluctant yet inhumanly strong, as if he was under the control of some exterior being forcing him to do this action against his will. Yet was he reluctant in his choice? He was certainly not making any excuses, or not any that had been audible to her own throbbing mind. She groaned again. Nothing was making sense. It was as if she was walking a personified paradox, a simple trip to be reunited to her beloved turning into a kidnap attempt from hell in a matter of moments, from shutting the door of that taxi to waking up here. Something frightening had been born out of the routine. She remembered the production of a weapon, daunting in its narrow state, a scream that may or may not have originated from her own vocal tissues echoed through her dazed memory. A word in a language she did not recognise, said with a command that turned everything black. The new thought stuck her that she was beginning to sound like Claudia.

Their journey then came to a sudden halt just as a wave of attentiveness passed across her tired limbs. She chose not to use it, instead waiting with an air of unfounded curiosity to watch her assailant's next move and where he'd brought her so she could best gauge her position. Lucy was naturally a fighter. She'd always been the protector of the playground, of dying and sick relatives, even the children she came by in the day as she found herself more and more disheartened by the state she found them in during the hours of her employment with a local childcare trust. Her mind was willing for her to go on the attack, to push away her oppressor and run as fast as her legs would carry her, and leave it all behind. But what would she be turning her back on? Whether her body just refused to co-operate on a basic feeling of fear or if her natural curiosity had transcended her waking thoughts, she couldn't say for sure. Whatever it was, it was keeping her rooted to the spot.

The man removed his weapon again as Lucy immediately winced. She'd imagined it to be a heavy, death-like baton that had inflicted her with the current pain she felt, something as dark as everything else surrounding the situation. But no. She could barely make in out in the dim light. It looked thin, fragile and twig-like as the man placed it in the key lock of an ancient oak door like a key, twisting it slightly a muttering about it being 'Nothing like his own' as the door finally granted him entrance like an old and faithful friend. Lucy highly doubted whether she'd be sure of anything else again as they finally stepped into its dull and lifeless light.

Bam. The door swung shut behind them of its own accord, as if an invisible wind had pushed it closed with one foul swoop of its icy hand. Lucy felt herself begin to shiver uncontrollably as the room she now entered was colder than the last. From what she could make out, a disturbing green glow seemed to be hanging over the atmosphere like a lingering smell, similar to how she'd imagined the chlorine gas hanging over the trenches of the Somme, poisoning her forefathers as they fought for a cause which never seemed entirely clear. A line of blurred enemies over a muddy patch of field. Somehow, the gap between herself and whoever was sitting in an ornate chair at the other end of the room held the same essence. 

Lucy was vaguely aware of being thrown across the floor, an impact that shocked through her knees as if they'd been plunged into ice, onto the stone and now lying at the feet of a brand new tormentor. She dared not lift her head. She merely shivered and listened.

'My Lord,' came the voice of her kidnapper, high pitched and worship like. 'I have got her, this is her. Our bargaining tool. I hope it pleases you to know…'

'Stop your snivelling, Wormtail,' replied a voice from the darkened seat. 'You have yet again benefited from the disproportional amount of luck someone saw at one point in time fit to bestow upon you. The fools.'

Lucy felt herself sink further into the stone floor as this new voice entered the frame. Although it too was high pitched, it held such an air of power and authority, the hideous ring that seemed to follow every one of the unknown syllables flooded her veins with another wave of sensual danger. This man could kill her with a murderous stare and not batter an eyelid in remorse. Somehow she knew it, and so too, apparently, did Wormtail.  

'I apologise most profusely, my Lord,' he continued to grovel, almost sickeningly. Lucy could sense his lord shift with disgust at this sycophantic outburst. 'But my network of informers have revealed to your lordship that the plan is in the midst of succeeding. We have the first ingredient. We just have to wait for them to walk into our trap.'

Wormtail was almost squeaking with a mixture of pride and muffled satisfaction. However, Lucy was aware of another movement further up the room and assumed the lord was raising his hand for calm. Wormtail immediately hushed, sensing the annoyance of his master at his unrestrained behaviour through the foul-smelling air, not wishing to push the boundaries so forcing himself into silence. A swish of cloaks could be felt as something else entered the room, the temperature immediately dropping as Wormtail shrank back into his robes in fright of the new company. His sense of dread had now reached a new dizzy height. However, his lord remained unaffected.

'Our role now, Wormtail, is to wait. Just like we did before, just as we always have. Power seems to find its own way in this world toward those who wish to seek it, the weak being unable to trace its natural path and so missing it altogether. It has been the case before, and I assure you it will be again. The Phoenix will be defeated. Lord Voldemort will have his day. And he will turn it into the forever night and rule for an eternity. Take her away.'

And as the darkened creatures began their trek toward her, Lucy was overwhelmingly bewildered. However, she was hardly given a moment of time to consider the information just awarded to her and the bafflement it caused before the invisible beings were upon her. She tried to suck in the air and found it came back out as shivering clouds of condensation, the air freezing as her head began to cloud, the rattling breath of the devil's creation piercing her bones like a fish to the hook. Her breath now caught up in her chest, breathing becoming a difficult necessity as she felt her heart freeze over in the cavity as any good feeling she'd ever had was drained out of her soul. All that was left was a silent and hideous moaning as the hell-like creatures flanked her, their scale covered hands gripping her limp body at the elbows as she found herself being taken to yet another unknown location. And all she could hear in her ears as the darkness finally took her was the voice of her sister, desperate, pleading to be believed. The demons. The Lord. The wand. 

'_It's true… it's all true…'_

It was. And it was going to be worse than Lucy had ever imagined.

***

To be continued…


	5. Discoveries and Diesel

A/N: Whoo hoo

A/N: Whoo hoo! Still going strong! Well, here's the next part of this wonderful epic that I hope people are taking the time and effort to read and make a poor, tired English girl smile in the process. This little island of sanctity in the sea of Mary Sues seems to be getting a pretty good response, but please tell all your friends to hop on board. The more the merrier! This part sees a couple of reality checks and some surprises for our young sleuths, so please r/r and enjoyieee! I have also written the ending, and the last word is 'note'. You try and work that out…

Dis: The universe of Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling, and is used here without her permission. I acknowledge that I have no rights to any cannon characters, settings or events mentioned. I have no intention and no desire to make profit from this piece, as the credit deserves to go to JK Rowling as she invented them and thus owns all rights to them. Not me. Got it? Good. But I own any original characters. This section contains references to JRR Tolkien's masterpiece, Lord of the Rings, which obviously belongs to the estate of JRR Tolkien. Okies? Right then. Onwards!

PS Although this theory has since been disproved, in this story Lily and James punched out the scar laden one when they were about twenty-five. JK has since said that Snape is 35 or 36. But by the way I done all my maths, the marauders are generally hitting the big four-oh. 

****

The Unknown Witness

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Discoveries and Diesel

Once Hermione's parents had recovered from the shock of their newly decorated kitchen and become enamoured with Ron when he made them a cup of tea, the threesome were finally left to their own devices. Harry felt exhausted after their clean up operation, but nevertheless, Hermione was desperate to get on. She awarded their hard work with a glass of lemonade and a tour of her abode, a perfectly charming little cottage in the daylight hours with authentic Tudor beams crossing the ceiling at regular intervals. It was so authentic in fact that Harry had been amazed by the million tiny holes made by an ancient woodworm. Hermione assured him that they had been eradicated. Ron showed he was truly his father's son when he became fascinated by his first contact with a kettle, followed shortly by the wonder of Hermione's hi-fi system. The way Ron's eyes had widened in delight upon the sight of these everyday objects and Hermione's matter-of-fact reactions made Harry's heart feel light as a feather. It was as if just the company of his two friends and their typical antics were enough to lift the cloud of depression that normally darkened up the vast amount of the holiday spent at Privet Drive. He felt, for a moment, content.

Harry had never been exactly sure what to expect from Hermione's home life, as it was a topic she'd never brought up. He supposed once inside Hogwarts ancient walls, the Muggle-born was anxious to concentrate on her brave new world, absorb all it had to offer before she found herself stranded with the Muggles and unable to show off her talents. He often felt the same way, but for an entirely different textbook of reasons. Hermione was simply restricted by her momentous desire to remain loyal to the rules. Her wand was still on display atop her dresser; polished to a perfection only she could ever achieve. It was as if she wanted to be faced with temptation, merely to award herself the strength from saying no. And as for the rest of her room, it certainly made for an interesting observation. 

It was feminine: the traditional peaches and pinks melded into a single entity, natural in their presence but somehow forced in their inclusion. Harry got the sense that she was not totally comfortable in her surroundings. This was possibly indicated by the stiff way she sat on her bed, pushing herself up onto the corner shyly as Ron perched on the end and himself in the wicker chair in the corner, his knees hunched up tightly into his chest. It was almost as if the room reflected a Hermione of the past, a Daddy's girl now all grown up leaving her baby tones behind. Indeed the crammed and over-flowing bookshelves tended not to match the décor, a number of scruffy works presenting her natural progression from the soft tones of Austen to the harshness of Wells, Burgess and Orwell's 1984. Even then they tended to be the older volumes, totally contradicting the crispiness of the room with their peeling covers and yellowing pages, obviously well loved and read, bulging with their overwhelming intellect. However, Harry had to smile when in amongst their volumes he spotted a few children's favourites: The Hobbit, Alice through the Looking Glass, The Famous Five. Adventurous. It was obvious what she was longing for. She wasn't a Gryffindor for nothing.

However, it was the magical books that seemed to have precedence in the pecking order. Hogwarts, A History, had pride of place on her bedside table, well thumbed for the ease of quick reference with her school books piled alongside. They seemed to be an easy-to-reach alternative to a sleepless night, dog-eared pages visible at regular intervals. She began to tidy them absently while the boys looked on. She straightened up to address them both, her thinking cap placed firmly upon her frizzy mass of curls she let run wild upon her shoulders.

'It isn't much, I suppose…' she said, maintaining a similar air of uncertainty that Ron had expelled on Harry's first visit to the Burrow. 'But it's enough. It's not like I'm here that much - '

Ron mumbled a few words of selective approval that seemed to make Hermione's day. Turning slightly pink, she opened a drawer and rustled some more papers, finally emerging with a detailed folder of her own neat and elegant hand etched into the paper with an amusing purple ink. She opened it on her desk and began to sort it into piles.

'So we know who she is then…' she said as the sorting continued. 

'Check!' bellowed Ron, giving her a mock army salute. She smirked at him fondly and continued to file, not batting an eyelid in the process.

'Correction, Ron: We know who she was fourteen years ago. She might have moved, changed her name, anything. Let's just hope we get lucky, hey?'

She looked directly at Harry, an almost accusing stare when relating the current discussion to the talk the night before. Harry just stared back. 

'So what do you suggest?' he said.

'Well, we'll catch the bus into town. Don't look so horrified, Ron.' She addressed the look of dismay that had temporarily seared across her best friend's face. 'It's necessary. We can check the electoral roll to see if this name at this address still exists. They'll keep a copy of it at the - '

'Library.' the boys said in unison. They could have been back in the first year researching Nicholas Flamel again. 'Honestly Hermione,' said Ron, rolling his eyes in a way Hermione had been thinking about in the early hours of that day. 'You really stick by your guns, don't you. 'If in doubt, go to the library'. If Hogwarts ever got itself into that yearbook rubbish, that's your quote done and dusted!'

Harry frowned slightly at Ron's more sarcastic than usual tone. But on a note of careful consideration, he supposed it had been an anxious summer at the Weasley's and was bound to rub off on his companion somehow. Ron's father was trying desperately to alter the ministry's attitudes to Voldemort's return, Mrs Weasley equally worried as to the fates of her high-flying sons, not to mention son number six who had that wonderful knack of getting caught in the middle of things. They'd seen it all before. Ron had grown up with the stories, the bogeyman that normally resides in the darkness underneath a child's bed living and breathing in the memory of his parents. It was a harsh reality to live with, and an even harsher one to repeat.

'Yes, well,' Hermione said, not bothering to protest. She'd obviously sensed the shakiness in his voice as well. 'It's a good place to start. We can confirm all the details at the very least. It's a local address. Very convenient…'

Harry frowned at her. 'I don't think you can blame a coincidence of location on your conspiracy theories, Hermione. All going well, I think Ms Darlington can expect a little visitor...'

'Diving in head first, as usual…' muttered Ron. Hermione shot him an agreeable look. 

'We'll cross that bridge when we come to it.' She replied, suddenly picking up a pile of her pristine scribbled sheets and throwing them in the bin. She dusted her hands satisfactorily with a sigh. 'I think we'd better get off. But first…'

Hermione picked up her wand, turned it in her hand for a minute, twiddling it like a prize-wining majorette before turning on Harry. Pointing with its whitened tip and muttering a few well chosen Latin phrases, Harry was amazed to witness a transformation: He traced a tingling beginning in his feet as his trainers morphed beneath them, no longer slopping around his ankles like oversized barges but fitting snugly around his toes. He felt the length of his jeans and shirtsleeves immediately shorten, so much that he found himself madly scrambling to undo the rolls of material that had gathered at each end. Even the neck was shrinking, now fitting round his neck unlike its previous dog collar state. As he gave himself a shake in his newly shrunk attire, a small shower of glittery sparks flew off, disappearing into the soft peach carpet like snowflakes into the frost. He looked at Hermione a little bewildered as she pocketed her wand and slung on her own sweater. Ron picked up the cue as she pulled it over her head. 

'Oh come on, Harry,' said Ron merrily, picking up a rucksack. 'Dudley's cast-offs didn't exactly do much for you, for Merlin's sake…'

'And besides, like you said,' answered Hermione with a rare mischievous grin, flicking out her hair from underneath the sweater. 'They're hardly going to chuck me into Azkaban for that now, are they?'

Harry smiled. Hermione really was beginning to lighten up.

***

Something was wrong. Even before she opened her eyes, she sensed it, like a biting breeze on a still winter's morning, piercing the air with its horrifying chill. Claudia had never had an inkling like it. She pushed her head down further into the pillow, averting it from the rest of the world while her alarm clock continued to scream like an unattended baby, its caws sabotaging the little feeling of peace that remained within her brain. She finally dragged a feeble hand from her hiding place to silence it with a slam, doing little for the niggling feeling in the back of her mind that life wasn't going to be the same by the time the day was out.

She rose, finding her dressing gown at the foot of the bed where she'd dropped it the night before. Her physical and mental exhaustion had taken her by the hand and led her to a restless sleep, full of the usual dreams and screams. For some reason, she could have sworn the images were sharper than ever, as if something was approaching that had cleared up their reception. The screaming boy, for instance, now had a positive outline, not merely the bundle of emotions she'd previously been able to detect him by. Small, troubled, injured. A mop of messy hair even more tangled by a recent struggle. A panic in his misty eyes catlike in the dark, wide with a horror of realisation that his nightmare had come true. And it was a common nightmare. The sense of dread was insurmountable. So much like another figure in her dreams, which seemed older, wiser, but shared the fear of his smaller counterpart. The same hair. The red head's eyes. A father, mother and son. But never did she ever receive the picture all together. It was like it had never happened.

She pondered this, like she did all her night time visuals, as she stepped into the bathroom to reach for the sanctity of a hot, shocking shower. Letting the water tumble over her shoulders as it cascaded in scorching streams, she allowed the steam to cloud her thoughts like the invisible air surrounding her, an inner sanctum achieved in the isolation of the white-tiled room. But the reality was unclear, causing the cloud that separated her from it to condense on the mirrors, clouding their reflection of something she never saw and thus detracting from the true image of the world they wanted to reflect. The truth, she supposed. Whatever that was. 

It was only when she emerged from the shower that the silence of the house finally reached her normally sensitive ears. For once the day before, she was able to put up a block between herself and those oversensitive organs, normally so receptive especially when she didn't want them to be, hearing the mutters under breath and the nerves behind the speech that set herself on edge. But this was just plainly odd. No radio blaring its usual nonsense. No muffled discussions between the long separated people. No excited bacon bits fizzing in the pan. No Paul. And certainly no Lucy.

At first this was of no concern. She trundled down to the kitchen and condemned herself to a simpler breakfast of toast and margarine, figuring Paul's slight must have been delayed. Lucy was the responsible one. She would have trailed to the ends of the earth as so much not to abandon her sibling, her charge. Her desperate desire to touch base at every opportunity had almost become a running joke, like as if she left Claudia alone in her own company for too long she'd implode into her own madness. And that was the last thing Lucy ever wanted.

She found herself at ease in her kitchen. Everything was in its correct place, nothing had changed and sent her into a kitchen of a stranger, where the cutlery felt different beneath her blunt fingers or the crockery was delicate to the bone china touch. The bread descended into the toaster with ease as she approached the fridge, expecting the usual punched-out Braille note attached under a friendly duck-faced magnet to explain the emptiness of the dwelling. But nothing. The frown on her brow deepened as she wandered over to the answer machine, felt along its familiar buttons and demanded the greeting of an explanatory message. But nothing. The blundering tones of its cordless beep emphasised the silence further still. Frighteningly still. You have no messages. You have made no contact. You are alone.

'Lucy?' she uttered into the darkness of her life. Useless. She wasn't there. She tried her mobile and gained the same, fearsome tone. Disconnected. Just like she was. Life imitating art imitating life, someone had once said, as the fumes of the now burning toast rose into the air. She made no effort to halt them. 

'Where are you, Lucy?'

Something was definitely wrong.

***

Remus hated motorbikes. He hated them with a passion. He hated the way they spilt its diesel on the road, the smell of the burning fuel choking in his throat as he tried to breathe in its industrialised wake. He hated their speed and dangerous tendencies as they took the turns at a heart stopping rate, the tilt making his breakfast churn as the golden sparks showered where the metal scraped the road. He hated the leathers that clung tightly to his body, too tightly for comfort as he crouched inside the sidecar, Biggles-style goggles adorning his features while their rough brown fastenings dug into the side of his worn down face. But most of all, he hated Sirius' driving. Caution was not in his vocabulary.

Arabella, meanwhile, looked as though she was having the time of her life. Her long brunette hair, dashed with the hint of ageing silver was streaking out behind her underneath the restraints of the Muggle crash helmet, jet-black and gleaming in the light-deprived dusk. She whooped and cheered with every deadly turn on the vicious machine as Sirius, looking menacing with his visor down and features disguised, nipped in and out the bends and corners making up the road away from Ottery St Catchpole. Ever the criminal on the run.

However, their journey was of a much more serious manner than a couple of past its on a night time joyride. Their expedition to the Burrow has unsuccessful in everything except getting Mrs Weasley more wound with worry up than usual. At the best of times the woman fretted enough for Ron and Harry altogether, but despite their evasiveness regarding their Harry orientated inquiry she was still sent into a tizzy. All of her five foot four frame positively shook with concern upon the doorstep as she drew an even more worried Ginny in under her arm, giving her a reassuring squeeze she seemed to wish had been bestowed upon herself. But at least she'd pointed them in a useful direction: The Granger house.

Remus was uncertain how the Muggle dentists would react to having this entourage of werewolves, wizards and convicts arrive on their doorsteps in the middle of the night. He'd always had a soft spot for Hermione on both an academic and personal level. The girl was so eager to please in every field possible, he was sure you couldn't find a more dedicated soul anywhere on the plain of existence. Whether it was an essay on Hinkypunks or a death-defying rescue attempt, that girl would give it her all. An interesting trait in one so young. A Gryffindor with a sense of logic and rationality was rare in itself, but one who had the ability to implement it was virtually unheard of. Ravenclaws yes, but hardly ever Gryffindors. He remembered a similar comment being made about himself once upon a time. A second generation of Marauders. That was just plain frightening.

At this point, he tapped Arabella and indicated that it was time for a pit stop. It was beginning to get dark and he was beginning to lose the feeling in his thighs after being cramped up in the sidecar for hours on end. He knew that Apparating was not the way to go: Sirius preferred to remain inconspicuous to any man or mammal: those whom Arthur Weasley was yet to win round would still jump at the chance to nail the infamous Black, especially in the darkened days after the Triwizard Tournament. A sense of justice for Diggory. Sirius got the message and began to slow down, pulling into a wooded lay by off the dual carriageway and finally bringing the roaring machine to a passive stand still. Even in the trees that surrounded their parked vehicle, it looked darker than it was, the branches eclipsing what little sun remained over the horizon casting a dusty light across the rural landscape beyond the wood. He dismounted, Arabella leaping off like a medieval lady dismounting side-saddle with an air of perfected etiquette than only she could achieve in full body leathers. Sirius removed his helmet and offered a hand to the Werewolf.

'Starting to lose the circulation down there, Moony?' he said with a smile on his face. 

'You could say that,' Remus replied with a smirk. 'Or you could just come out with it straight and say its bloomin' painful!'

'It is magically expandable, you know…'

'Aw, jeez,' said Remus, one eyebrow raised. 'Thanks for telling me.'

With Sirius' help, he heaved himself out of his metal prison and stretched his legs, his own set of leathers creaking as he did so. He hadn't quite accustomed himself to the feeling of the material Arabella had conjured up for the trio at the journey's commencement, the way it clung to every bump and roll on his ageing body did him no favours. He wasn't twenty-five anymore, indeed he hadn't even felt youthful then, time being bestowed upon his world weary body both through his monthly changes and the fight against the darkness. Although he was forty, he'd felt in middle age for all his adult life. He knew that if it weren't for Dumbledore, he'd have barely made it past his teens before being hunted down by various demon slayers. But nevertheless, there was no getting away from the fact that they were all getting older. Looking at Sirius as he set down his helmet to scratch his unshaven face, the street lighting highlighted the small lines beginning to form around the haunted eyes that still reminded Remus everyday the horrors his friend had seen. Arabella herself was massaging her calf underneath the leathers, a look of quiet discomfort upon her face as she tried to eradicate the undoubted cramp that had accumulated in her lower leg. He smiled at the almost comic picture, the expression graduating to a highly contagious laughter.

'What's so funny?' enquired Arabella as the smile began to spread to her face.

'Nothing,' chortled Remus when presented with a look of bemusement form the general direction of Sirius. 'Nothing really. We're just all quite a sight, aren't we? Old fogies tearing up the road and all…'

Arabella's face dissolved into a baffled frown as Sirius caught on. He thumped Remus playfully on the shoulder, the sound of impact emphasised by his dangerous looking black leather gloves that were highly decorated with a variety of studs. 'Ah, yes Moony,' he replied with an air of reminiscing. 'What happened to the good old days, hey? Magical Mischief makers? Regular trips into the Slytherin common room to transfigure Severus' pants into a fine selection of ladies' undergarments?'

Arabella laughed. 'So it was you two who did that? I always wondered. The poor guy was walking funny for weeks afterwards…'

'By Merlin, I remember…' said Remus fondly. 'Frilly pink ones, right?'

'Complete with suspender belt…'

'That's not a pretty picture…'

They all laughed at the softest of memories, of cheeky school kids sensing amusement in the simplest of pranks. For a moment the familiar picture of the common room returned, a group of them sitting round the fire basking in the glory of their latest bag of tricks. Then as the laughter began to filter out, a new emotion filled the group, having a sobering effect upon they greyness of their faces as Arabella shifted a little awkwardly on the spot, pushing her hair back off her face allowing it to lie uneven on her shoulders. She stared through the trees of the wood beyond and removed a minuscule instrument from the pocket of her jacket.

'Still no trace of him,' she sighed, slightly annoyed at the failure of her instrument. 'And we're almost there. This Hermione's house is only just across the field there.'

She beckoned them to follow her into the wood, which in reality was barely a few trees deep. They soon emerged on the other side and were greeted by a field of maize, waist high in the summer eve and swaying gently with the warm breeze coming over the North Downs. It was a sight that would normally allow Remus to sigh openly with contentment; A village at peace with itself in the evening light as the occasional giggle of child at play echoed from its many back gardens on the brow of the hill. But as the three of them stood in the shadow of the trees behind them, they were cast into a darkness that few ever faced alone in their dark, death like attire and felt every part of the doom they were attempting to avert. 

'There it is.'

Remus followed Padfoot's stare as his friend's sunken eyes focused on a tidy little cottage at the end of the row, roses creeping peacefully up one side of the Tudor dwelling like bars around a cage, encasing the white and black beams like a prisoner of plantations. They observed it in silence, half expecting the occupants to sense their shadowy presence beneath the trees across the field while Arabella held up a number of instruments to the light, her face remaining indignant and yet ready to register any reaction to the information received. Remus continued to watch the village up ahead, the strange desire taking him to be an ignorant as their occupants as to the fate awaiting his world. He was dragged out of his stance like state as Arabella shut her case load with a snap.

'Well, he _was_ here,' she began, addressing the other two who hung on every word. 'And by the look of things, so were Ron and Hermione. But their trails lead off. The Veneficium tracer is sensing records of a couple of spells cast at day break, but they must have moved because the levels are barely lingering…'

Both men were looking a little puzzled and felt a bit of elaboration was in order. Arabella complied. 'Magical people tend to hold a certain air of magic around them as they go about their business. Like what those Muggle psychics refer to as auras, it leaves a trail behind it, which is called a Veneficer. As long as you're only a couple of hours behind, you can trace their path. The colours aren't visible to the human eye, and that's where these come in.' She held up an ordinary looking pair of binoculars, the eye pieces ringed with silver and rest encased to a dark green casing. She offered them to Remus. 'If you look through, you should be able to see a faint blue line, accompanied by a green and red one. I charmed them to pick up the trails of our teenage runaways. From what you said, I suspected the number might become plural...'

Sirius got what she was getting at. 'Hey, he's James' son, not mine…'

'So what about the bright yellow blobs?' commented Remus from behind the instrument as he examined the landscape of colour before him. 'What do they mean?'

'That registers areas of extreme magical activity relating to those being traced. Basically where they got a little wand happy.'

'Judging by this lot, they're lucky the ministry is so distracted.' replied Remus, taking a peek. 'They would have been pulled up big time…'

'That's neither here nor there,' said Sirius, getting agitated on his feet. 'Where's it heading?'

'Out toward the main road and heading into town.' remarked Remus

'So that's where we're heading.'

He shoved his helmet back over his lengthened hair without a second thought, stormed back through the woods and mounted the bike again, revving its engine impatiently. Arabella shrugged, packed up her instruments and turned to Remus.

'There isn't enough room in that side car for two, is there?'

He smiled at her, nodded quietly as she led the route back, both leaping the side car and speeding off into the fading light toward the Medway, failing to notice in their hurried wake the extra passenger their load now carried.

***

'Three half-returns to Rochester town, please.'

Hermione smiled sweetly at the bus driver as she handed over the correct amount, just as the polite notice behind them said. The ticket machine on the stand next to him impatiently spluttered out their stubs while he typed the destination in, Hermione ripping them off the roll before Ron could grab them for himself. The look of glazed fascination that had taken residence in his face reminded Harry so much of the loveable Mr Weasley he almost wanted to laugh out loud. Watching Hermione in this most ordinary of situations however was also an experience in itself. She knew exactly what to do. She wasn't totally phased by the whole sequence of events like the wizard-born Ron, finding every little detail strange and exciting similar to Hagrid and the parking metres all those years ago. Instead she seemed to blend in just like she did into the tapestries of Hogwarts, nothing ever seeming alien to her cinnamon eyes as she merely shrugged and accepted her surroundings as if they were as normal as apple pie. Harry had never seen her so full of confidence. They were intruders in her world now, and so she took hold of the lamplight to guide them all the way.

They followed her down the aisle of the bus and settled on some longer seats right at the back, away from the older travellers and their trolleys of shopping and doctor's prescriptions. Most certainly where their discussions would not be overheard. Harry was bringing up the rear just as one particular woman dropped her walking stick across his path, which he proceeded to gallantly pick up off the floor and present it back to the lady in question. She smiled pleasantly enough at him, muttering something about being such a nice boy, and all the youth of today were normally interested in were drugs and loud music. Harry had to restrain himself from a hideously ironic laugh as he mumbled it was no trouble, and continued to take up residence at the back of the bus. There was so little these Muggles knew that went on in the world, and so much they wouldn't want to know.

'Harry,' Hermione said a little while later, keeping her voice in a hushed whisper despite the lack of eavesdroppers around them. 'Have you heard from Snuffles lately?'

Ron looked just as interested in the proposed question, as he finally managed to drag his bulging eyes away from the cars that were passing them on the other side of the road. Very slowly, in fact, as these poor souls were currently in a queue of traffic behind a bright yellow tractor. He looked at Harry with an air of urgency.

'Actually, no.' he replied quietly, timidly even. 'Not since the end of term. Whatever Dumbledore sent him out to do, it's kept him very occupied.'

'All for the good of the cause, heh?' muttered Ron, gazing back out the window again.

'I suppose…' Harry muttered back, his thoughts beginning to drift. 'He didn't even send me a birthday card this year. I know I shouldn't be disappointed and all, but…'

Harry was letting the Dursley syndrome get to him. The misfit. The family black sheep. The little boy who slept in the cupboard under the stairs even though there was an empty room upstairs simply because he wasn't worthy of their care, even if it only manifested itself at best as a pair of Uncle Vernon's mouldy old socks. The person inside of him who was still in doubt that all of this was real. Hermione saw it in his eyes and attempted to dismiss it.

'Harry, don't think like that.' She said sharply, like a mother scolding a child. 'And don't you dare think like that again. You're just as entitled to have a proper birthday as the next person. And that does include a present form your Godfather.'

'Surprise surprise, Hermione's right,' supported Ron. 'He'd only hold off writing to you if he had really good reason.'

Harry's eyes suddenly widened with a form of realisation that even Ron didn't see in his wise words of counsel. He shot Hermione a baffled look as Harry dived into his jacket pocket and rummaged around for a moment, finally emerging with a handful of the infamous mahogany casing. He held it out in his hand, shaking it as he spoke.

'Don't you see?' he exclaimed, a little too loudly for Hermione's comfort as a couple of the passengers turned to stare. 'The time turner! It must have been a belated Birthday present from Sirius! Think about it…' he directly addressed the puzzled look on both his companions' faces. 'Like I said, it's just another Firebolt or Marauder's map. He must have known we were up to something and was certain we'd find some use for it.'

'But Harry, there wasn't a note or anything when you got it, right?' asked Hermione, her eyes equally as wide as Harry's but filled with a completely different concern. 

'But,' added Ron. 'He didn't leave any note with the Firebolt either. And the message that came with the invisibility cloak wasn't exactly decisive of its origins, was it?'

Hermione obviously didn't have the energy to argue. She'd been up since three am, after all. 'Look, I still reckon it's just a little too convenient. I'd say we're better off not meddling with it until we know its full intentions.'

Harry sighed frustratingly and fell back against the seat, putting the time turner back in his pocket. She'd never be able to accept that maybe someone wanted to give them a lucky break. But then the unnerving thought entered his mind that everything always started out like that.

***

Lucy shivered. She'd never felt this cold in her entire life. It was as if someone had sliced open her bones and poured in the ice from the darkest depths of Antarctica and further still. She didn't think she'd ever be warm again. The bait.

She found herself huddled underneath a thread-bare blanket it what could only be described as a dungeon pit form hell. Her sister was the writer in her family, she was the practical one, and so no amount of artistic ability would be able to personify its horror into words. She stared at its stone clad walls and damp drips of water descending from the roof and had to suppress a shiver. It was dark: she could barely see her hand inches before her face despite the presence of low flickering candles in brackets along the walls. She staggered to her feet and stumbled toward one of them, taken back for a moment by her weakened state as she was forced to lean against the wall for support. Finally drawing herself to her full height and detaching the candle from it position on the hanging, she placed it on the floor in front of her and kneeled down in front of it. She let her head fall almost to her knees as all of her remaining energy was eaten away by the cold. 

The candle was disappointing, but somehow explanatory. The light it emitted was pale and feeble, almost like a chip of blue ice as it sat and flickered on the wick, not responding to the frostiness of Lucy's irregular breath as she held her hands over it begging for warmth, but to no avail. Her fingertips remained freezing, feeling as though frost bite was ready to take its first snap at her limbs that refused to accept it was the middle of summer. Indeed for Lucy, all notions of time and the seasons had been driven to the unreachable recesses of her conscious mind by the darkened creatures that had only just left her cell.

Dementors. That's what she'd heard one of the guards call them as they came to free her from their torture, the sweeping cold they seemed to impose on their victims lifting as they went, leaving in their wake the cold that already existed. It wasn't as if they'd done anything physical to harm her. Indeed all the evil creatures had done was man-handle her into the cell, stepping back out to observe her from outside the bars as they continued their rattled excuse for breathing, sucking in anything good and warming that remained in Lucy's soul. With these hellish creatures guarding over her prison, she felt as if she'd never be happy again. She tried to concentrate on a happy memory - perhaps her and Claudia as children back along the Medway, her wedding day even - and found them frighteningly gone. Inaccessible. Non-existent. It was as if these events had never happened, because all the negatives that came along with it were horribly prominent. The day her mother died. Paul's regular absence from the safe haven of their home upon the hill. She heard Claudia's tormented screams in her head, along with the anxious ones of her own as she desperately tried to help and found her sister frighteningly out of reach. The screams reached a fever pitch as the creatures leaned in closer, sensing her fear almost and being enthralled by its sense, as if that was exactly what they fed off. If hell existed, these were the gate keepers.

But as they left her alone to seek what little warmth she could, she found that a little voice inside of her seemed to be generating it's own. She closed her eyes for a second, concentrating on that inner monologue that seemed so reassuring in its tones. It told her to hold on. Keep the faith. Faith. That was something the Dementors could never take from her. It was a faith that said someone would come. That someone would risk themselves for her. It was a feeling that filled her with the utmost dread, putting people directly in harm's way just to save her own sorry soul. But it was something she would have to rely on if she was to keep going. The bait. That she wouldn't be.

***

'This is it.'

Harry, Ron and Hermione were confronted by a perfectly normally urban dwelling, a semi-detached house at the brow of the hill leading down into the valley and the river below, looking spectacular in the glittering light despite facing the mirror of itself all the way down the street. Its ordinariness hauntingly reminded Harry of the state of Privet Drive, with its well-to-do neighbours, community 'spirit' and the secrets that lay behind each door, number four in particular. Nothing was ever as it seemed.

The expedition to the Muggle library had passed with relative ease. The silence had been a pretty welcomed commodity considering the chaos that preceded it. The three of them took up residence in a cosy corner of the non-fic section, flowered covered cushions nestled in a Victorian window seat providing a suitable place to examine booklet after booklet of electoral roll, searching for a name that might not have even been there. Harry had felt more sleepy than ever in the mid morning light, streaking through the high planed windows and casting a warming shadow across one side of his face. At one point, he was sure he closed his eyes and let the light absorb him, taking his face in a blanket of his hands a soothing him so. Ron had at one point managed to sneak off to the fantasy section, and occasionally taking a break of the reams of names, he read out all the unrealistic sections regarding the activities of wizarding folk to lighten the mood. Hermione had to begin with shot Ron a disapproving look, but couldn't help but laugh when one particular author had his wizard falling into a darkened abyss when battling with what Ron referred to as a Balfrog.

'It's a Balrog, Ron,' Hermione had scolded, failing to disguise a smile of amusement.

'Whatever…' Ron had replied. 'But honestly, how unrealistic! Any half decent wizard would have hit the thing with a conjunctivitis curse, just like Snuffles suggested with the Horntail, right Harry? Hit that thing square in the eye with it and he would have dropped like a sack of potatoes. Would have saved this Token bloke wasting his time with the other two volumes…'

Hermione rolled her eyes. 'Its Tolkien, Ron, JRR Tolkien. One of the greatest Muggle fantasy writers who ever lived. Honestly,' she'd muttered, 'You wouldn't know good literature if it hit you with an unforgivable…'

Harry had smiled at his friends in the midst of yet another domestic when he spotted it. Darlington, Claudia, her name written out in dark black letters in amongst the residents of Rochester East. The name in print had meant nothing in itself, merely a jumble of letters on a page marked with every name imaginable, but for him it was the only name in the world. With that in mind, Hermione had quickly jotted down any extra details that existed with the record and packed up shop, leading them away from the main town and back up atop the hillside to the house that held all their secrets. 

'So what do we do now?' said Hermione presently, tying her sweatshirt round her waist as the afternoon like grew warmer still. She seemed a little apprehensive, shrugging a little at Harry's pensive stare, Ron feeling the intensity and attempting to break the ice. 

'Oh yeah,' his sarcasm kicked in. 'We're going to barge in there, say hey, remember that gas explosion that cost you a couple of limbs? Well, guess what? Fooled ya!'

Harry was vaguely aware of Hermione whacking Ron round the head as he stared from the piece of paper clutched in his clammy hand and the house in front of them. Before anyone could protest, Harry opened the little Iron Gate and strode up the garden path as it creaked closed, banging gently back and forth in the afternoon breeze. 

'Harry!' Hermione suddenly exclaimed, pushing the gate open again and striding up behind him. 'Wait a minute! Ron's right!' she grabbed his arm as he spun to face her, eyes wildly gleaming with the sort of injustice that would be quashed by stepping over the threshold. She paused for an instant, feeling a wave of sympathy cast over her as she stared solemnly into those bottomless eyes. She shook herself out of it. 'We can't just knock on the door, like a bolt on the blue…' she whispered desperately, calming him so. 'We need to go about this some other way, cover our tracks….'

'Can you think of anything else?' Harry asked in a voice that was not unlike his own, but strangely alien at the same time. He wrenched his arm from Hermione's grip and glanced over her shoulder at Ron, still standing baffled at the gate. 'Anything to add?'

The redheaded one silently shook his head, a little scared at the drastic means that had taken over his friend. Harry looked back at Hermione fiercely. 'I think you're outnumbered, Hermione.'

He knocked on the door.

***

She sat bolt right in the armchair at the sound of the raucous at the door. The noise seemed so out of place in the silence that had engulfed the house in company's absence. Twenty-four hours and still no word. The being knocked again. Maybe it was just the paranoia that had aggravated her sibling for so long, but the overriding sense that somehow her unexpected disappearance was the first piece in a jumble of many that would finally solve the puzzle just wasn't going to go away. Feeling her heart rapidly ascending her throat, she rose silently, clasping at the doorframe as she staggered through it a little dazed with anticipation as to what lay behind the front door. An explanation, perhaps, or the police delivering the expected worse? Or maybe, even…

'Lucy?'

She called out helplessly into the darkness of her world, hoping for an answer at the door beyond her reach, as the figures on the other side of the frosted glass nervously muttered between themselves. As she reached for the handle, a great apprehension arose in her chest. Were the people who took Lucy away back for the last piece of the puzzle? This fear that now crept across her frozen heart caused her knees to bend and to place her mouth to the held open letter box. She took a deep breath.

'Who's there?'

Her voice was unusually shaky and nervous, not the Claudia people associated with the blind cold stare that penetrated the soul of a problem without a batter of an eyelid. This was the Claudia of the past: a frightened child who was timid at every step. Something not unlike the voice that gave the reply. 

'Someone who really needs your help.'

For some reason that she would never be able to explain, the voice of the unknown individual who stood behind the frosted glass seemed soothing, reassuring almost, like a voice that had been bared to all hell but still managed to maintain an ounce of innocence that so many lacked. It seemed so familiar in its tones, a voice of a maturing adolescent. For the best part of two decades, she'd come to rely on her hearing as a judgement of character. While most people take one look at a face and form an impression without meaning to, Claudia inevitably did the same with the voice. But it was this voice in particular that seemed to stir her emotions and send rationality into the gathering dusk. She instantly trusted it.

'We just need to talk to you, Ms Darlington,' said the voice of a teenage girl, obviously standing a little way back from her up front companion. She heard the girl take a deep, prolonged breath. 'About the accident…'

She paused, confused for a second as to the youth of her voice, both their voices. They couldn't be more than teenagers. The mystery that surrounded these particular visitors seemed to entice her into half turning the door handle. But then she paused, put the door on the gold security chain and then proceeded to let the warm summer air in, the door opening at a crack as she pulled herself up and hid behind it, still standing stock-still behind the formidable force of its mahogany setting. She let her fingers slowly creep to its edge, the tips peeking out around its frame as the first part of her body to truly face the visitors. 

'How can I trust you?' she said simply, allowing some of her hair to fall across her face and into the light that was streaking through the door crack. She was shaking.

'Here,' said the boy, reaching up and gently touching her fingertips. 'Take my hand.'

For some reason beyond all sensibilities, she felt compelled to obey his command. She simply put her hand more fully into view and allowed him to grasp it tightly in his, the feeling so familiar somehow, like something that had touched her in another life perhaps. His palm felt warm, reassuring, comforting in her own. She didn't breath as he continued to speak.

'Claudia, do you trust me?'

An entire lifetime must have past as she stood behind the door, holding his hand in hers while his companions watched in dutiful silence. He intertwined their fingers as she thought, a million memories pouring into her head, watching on in her mind's eye while he rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand. A million emotions, a million dreams. A million people affected by the existence of this hand. She almost felt a jolt of electricity run the entire course of her body and the visions hit, one after another with a greater speed that ever previously comprehended. A man with gleaming red eyes, evil to the bone. A family destroyed, mother, father, son. A friend. A traitor. A dark-hared man on the brink of insanity. The dog star.

'You're…' she started in a hoarse whisper. 'You're one of them. You came back.'

'Yes,' she could feel him smile underneath her fingers, with a sense of relief that seemed to flood from his own body to her own. 'I came back.'

And without a moment's pause and not letting go of his hand, she fiddled with the chain that restrained their entrance and invited the strangers in.

***

A/N: I know that in PoA, Remus says that Muggles can't see Dementors, but in this case there are special circumstances so be explained by a guest star later in the story. Okies? Good.

CLIFF HANGER ALERT! CLIFF HANGER ALERT!

A/N: I apologise to anybody who really hates cliff hangers. Don't worry, you won't be left in the lurch for too long. Expect a load of revelations as this fic begins to truly get into action as all my bits begin to intertwine. Hurrah! It's finally going somewhere! And keep up the reviewing. You were all a bit slow with chapter three. Go on, that little box is so tempting. You know you want to. J


	6. Revealing the Witness

A/N: Oh I can't stand the suspense

A/N: Oh I can't stand the suspense! Well, here is the next part in all it's *cough* glory, where the Unknown Witness gets some home truths, but will everything go according to plan? Yeah, right! This is athena_arena we're talking about guys! Doom and gloom at every turn. But pretty interesting gloom at that. Read on and relish… 

Dis: The universe of Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling, and is used here without her permission. I acknowledge that I have no rights to any cannon characters, settings or events mentioned. I have no intention and no desire to make profit from this piece, as the credit deserves to go to JK Rowling as she invented them and thus owns all rights to them. Not me. Got it? Good.But I own any original characters. I hope that all makes sense, because whether the rest of the fic does is debatable. Onwards!

****

The Unknown Witness

__

Revealing the Witness

They followed Claudia into the house. The first thing Harry noticed as he stepped into the hallway was how cold it was, even in the height of summer. It held a chill in its air, as if an evil had long passed over its roof and the house remained in its shadow, forever holding a sense of foreboding. Or maybe it was the darkness inside that made him feel a little on edge. He glanced at Hermione for reassurance, feeling like there was a task half-done. The house was on the verge of chaos, things knocked over still expecting to be picked up as if someone had run round in a whirlwind. Harry strongly suspected by her nervous, unsettling nature that the whirlwind was seated in front of them.

Claudia had immediately retreated to the living room where she sat, hunched up in a corner chair, her trouser clad legs pulled up tightly to her chest as she rocked in a slow, meditative fashion. Her eyes were wide, and just as vivid as Harry could remember, the ice white of her irises were gazing out into the room with a look of vague blankness, not able to take in the scene surrounding her but still desperately trying to absorb the air that held it. Wrinkles had begun to form around her eyelids: thin lines of laughter and worry that formed little crow's feet at their corners creeping into the face like the toll of time personified. Harry had barely been witness to the ageing process: Aunt Petunia caked on the make up with a shovel, the orange line of her foundation clearly visible while Vernon remained ageless behind his great moustache. But seeing Claudia at two different ages in such a short time span was quite a traumatising sight. However, in both the images Harry superimposed on each other in his mind, the same emotions accompanied it. Confusion. Uncertainty. Fear. 

Hermione was clearly anxious. Harry watched her as she first stepped in after Claudia, himself remaining at the doorway with an equally timid Ron, who was a little unsure what to do with his oversized limbs so reducing himself to examining his palms. Hermione, unable to watch a fellow human being in such a state, reached out and went to place a reassuring hand on Claudia's arm. But just as her fingertips made contact with the shivering shoulder, Claudia snapped it away, like a cat released from a trap and flashing with a fierce unexplained anger. She swatted the hand away in such a movement it made Hermione jump out of her skin and scuttle across the room as Ron and Harry entered it, keeping back from the older woman like she was an animal in a zoo. A zoo with bars she couldn't see.

'What do you know about the accident?'

Although this voice certainly went straight to the point of the whole expedition, it certainly came from an unexpected source. Claudia had let the words tumble out in a flurry, her determination to get to the bottom of all her anxiety most prominent in the panic of her voice, shaking. She was a woman on edge and Harry wasn't sure whether he'd be able to cope with her. But he was definitely going to try.

'Claudia,' he said, walking across the room and perching in front of the woman on the steady coffee table. 'My name is Harry Potter.' 

He took her hand again, and this time she didn't bat it away. Instead she took it firmly, like a handshake, letting her legs slide off the chair and resume a normal position with both feet on the floor as if she needed stability. Harry beckoned the others towards her and passed her hand to them each in turn.

'This is Hermione Granger…' he said as Claudia took her hand. Hermione smiled a little and bent in ever closer.

'Hi,' she said quietly, as if she was afraid to wake a sleeping child. Her smile suddenly widened, as if something had just clicked inside her colossal brain. 'Feel this.'

She took Claudia's hand and brought it up to her hair, although calmer than it used to be, still lying in wild curls on her sleeve covered shoulders. Claudia took the hair in her fingertips, rather like a baby finding security in the holding of a finger in a clamp-like grip. Claudia did not tug however, instead she smiled, the flicker of the emotion lighting up a face Harry had only witnessed in moments of extreme anguish. The difference was amazing.

'That must be the pain of your life, Hermione…' she said, wrapping a section of the hair around her finger before letting it cascade back into place. 'But its beautiful. Soft. Wavy.'

'Not first thing in the morning, I can tell you that.' Hermione laughed. She took Claudia's hand and passed it onto Ron. 'And this is Ron Weasley.'

'Oh my,' she said initially as her delicate hand was swamped by Ron's ever growing one. 'You're quite a gangly one, aren't you?'

Ron let out a small chortle of amusement. 'Yeah. Mum says that if I don't stop growing soon I won't fit into the house.'

Claudia returned she smile as Ron allowed her hand to identify him further, creeping up his arm and gradually settling on his hair. She ruffled it playfully.

'Its like fire,' she said, slightly taken aback. 'You're either thinking a lot under there or - '

'I'm a redhead.' Ron smiled broadly, as if he was proud of his most distinguishable feature. He took the hand off his unruly mop and handed it back to Harry who paused, a little unsure of what to do with it. Claudia sensed his trepidation and addressed it forthwith.

'I'm back with Harry now,' she said slowly as she recognised the hand she was holding. 'May I?'

Harry didn't need to answer as Claudia set about familiarising herself with his features like she did just a few days ago. Or fourteen years depending on the perspective. Harry felt a creeping acquaintance with the motion of the hand as it swept up the side of his face and lingered on his scar, normally a movement formulated in the flick of a stranger's eye. But somehow while that felt like an invasion of his privacy, this certainly didn't. He wanted her to do this. It was necessary, and he didn't seem to mind. He urged it.

She traced the outline of the lightning bolt as if she already knew its path. She dared not venture into its blotched red centre, but remained settled on its outskirts like a child at the edge of the playground: crossing that border would force her to acquire a whole set of problems she felt she couldn't face. She lingered for a minute, Harry not daring to breathe, then drew away, somewhat more settled than she'd been when they'd first entered the frame. She sighed.

'I knew you'd come back,' she said quietly as Harry and the others looked on, their faces etched with a mixture of concern and curiosity. 'I knew it. Yes,' she said quickly, replying to the previously asked question. 'I can remember the accident, but very little in the hours afterwards. I do remember someone talking to me though. It's strange: I can't remember the words, only the emotions. I thought it was all a dream.' Here she began to stumble, her own doubt hindering the memory. 'But that was fourteen years ago. You were there. But you sound exactly the same. Your face hadn't aged a bit. I can feel it. But you can't be that boy, it's just not possible…' She paused and looked blankly at him. 'Are you a ghost?'

Harry for a moment wasn't sure how to answer. He was confronted with the key to the happiness of everyone he held dearest: Sirius, Remus, Dumbledore even… yet he didn't know where to start. He stared at the unknown witness, and she stared right back in a way that seemed to delve into the deepest recess of his soul, as if she could read it through the pureness of her ice white eyes. The wave of sympathy that hit him was insurmountable. This woman had spent the best part of two decades with an ailment she could never fully understand, like a jigsaw with a million missing pieces. He hated it when he saw pity in other people's stares, seeing in the reflection of their glassy eyes a desperation to understand and soothe the problem away. As if they wanted to bring his parents back for him. Although she had no way of telling, he wouldn't wish to bestow such a look upon the unfortunate Claudia. The line between sympathy and pity was as delicate as love and hate, and he silently prayed that the line would never blur. He felt secure in boundaries. He had to speak. However, the ever-rational Hermione got there first.

'Claudia,' she said firmly, 'I think there are a great many things you need to understand. I know you don't know us. I know you can't trust us. I know we're only a handful of teenagers who shouldn't have a care in the world. But we do, we most certainly do. You probably won't believe us, I didn't believe any of it for the longest time...' Harry frowned a little at this slight revelation, wondering what exactly Hermione was referring to. She batted away his gaze. 'But please keep an open mind. We need an open mind. We need your help.'

Harry took a deep intake of breath that stopped Hermione dead. She stepped aside almost, knowing instinctively that he should be the one to speak. Ron was compelled to crouch at Claudia's side and take her hand again, rubbing the back of it reassuringly with the thumb of his wand hand, as if the spread of the magic it cast would somehow make the words more accepting. Harry finally plucked up the courage to speak; to spill the secret that hardly any Muggle would ever hear. He was ready to cross the line.

'Do you believe in magic?'

***

Lucy had lost count of the time she'd been in her prison. The nights had formed the habit of blending effortlessly into the day with an air of such peace and serenity she could have been there for years. She'd given up trying to understand the necessity of her imprisonment. The fish was apparently taking its time to bite. She could feel the grime begin to creep and settle on her face, her delicate pores beginning to fill with such dirt and dust her face felt weighed down with its sinful presence. She could barely be bothered to open her eyes.

She groaned a little, a hunger pain slicing clean through her stomach as she heard the approaching footsteps of the guard, bringing only what she could presume to be breakfast. It was normally too tasteless to decipher. She sat up a little to watch the hooded figure linger at the door of her cell. He paused in the shadow's depth, almost as if he was considering an unconventional move before he tapped the lock once with his black and white-tipped stick, leaving a shower of sparks in its wake as the door swung open coldly for him to lay down the indistinguishable meal. The guard tutted with disgust.

Lucy looked up at the figure desperately for any sign of life or humanity beyond the black folds that held his identity. This was the closest she'd got to human contact for days: if it was human. It held the familiar shape of the species, most certainly as arms were vaguely visible under the sea of black cloth as they fell back into place at the guard's tender sides. Definitely different from the kinsmen of the devil who were sapping away at her sanity. In the emotionless air that continued to supply her with the most wretched of existences, the guard seemed to fill it with his own: Obedience, straight obedience which Lucy got the sense was not all that it seemed. The darkness had certainly made her perceptive. She stared up at him, almost challenging him not to stare back under the disguise of his hood as if it were all a game. The guard turned away.

'I'm not allowed to talk to you,' said his voice, somewhat detached from the physical being in the darkness of the cell. He had obviously sensed her desire for communication that poured out of every inch of her face, and cringed at the power it awarded her stare. 'It is not my life's worth to waste it on you. The master…'

She heard the voice sigh wearily, struggling almost against his "master's" chains, as the desire to stand up against them became as apparent as Lucy's fear. She took a brave step.

'The master isn't here to see.' She said, timidly.

Lucy could feel the guard's frown upon her as if she was too feeble minded to fully comprehend. 'The master sees everything, dear Lucy. The Dark Lord has eyes everywhere, if he so desires it. A concept, of course, an inferior like you could never understand...'

The sparks of a normal conversation, relatively normal under the circumstances, seemed to be enough to ignite Lucy's sense of injustice and outrage. She ignored the fact he knew her name and felt compelled to spit back.

'Inferior?' she said through weakened, gritted teeth. 'Inferior? Would you care to expand on that?'

'It is irrelevant.' He said automatically, as if he'd been taught to ignore questions and lap up orders. 'And as for your inferiority, that is apparent in your inability to recognise your true status.'

'Which is?'

What was intriguing Lucy most at this point in the conversation was how forced the voice's vocabulary appeared to be. It was as if all this talking above his station was a struggle, an unnatural form of expression, wanting to lapse into a sequence of normality that the master had forbidden. Like a child wanting to escape their ignorance. It was this that gave her the strength to push.

He blinked at her in the darkness, as if the line of establishment should have already been defined. 'It's simple.' He replied bluntly. 'You're a Muggle. We are wizards.'

Lucy felt a slight wave of nausea flicker across her insides as the words became clouds in the freezing dungeon air, floating upwards in their own quest for freedom. If she were able to see his eyes, possibly then she'd get at least a slight impression as to the seriousness of this most dramatic of remarks. Instead the darkness granted her nothing. For a moment, she was left with just her own interpretation of the words as the guard remained stationary, waiting for her to react. Wizards and wands, sparks and spells. Somewhere it was making sense. She shook her head, a little unnerved, as if she wished to expel any thought that her sister might have been right out her thoroughly confounded brain. Claudia. 

She blinked at the faceless guard. 'Muggles?'

'Non-magical humans,' he sighed heavily, as if sickened by her stupidity. 'If you want the proper definition. I suppose down here it doesn't really matter. You're just a pawn. The first to be taken. The first to fall. You have no importance.'

He turned to leave, his cloak billowing out behind him as he twisted painfully on the spot, allowing his obligations to get the better of his nature as he moved to isolate Lucy once again. But Lucy's own quavering notes appeared to delay his departure.

'Whose pawn are you?''

He paused to consider this, but instead avoided its answer. But it was obvious Lucy was beginning to hit the raw nerves. He avoided her penetrating eye as her expression demanded more of a valid explanation. He continued to ignore it. 

'Eat your soup.'

'So that's what it's supposed to be, is it?' Lucy almost laughed harshly into the air, feeling more in prime position in light of the guard's uncertainty. 'It's always been a bit debatable…'

She was pushing him too far, for either a wall was going to crumble or a dangerous rage rise from the depths. Neither seemed appealing as the situation tittered on the delicate edge of security. The guard hissed silently under his breath, almost snake-like in its bitterness as he kicked her food tray towards her, letting it slide across the freezing stone floor. Most of the contents of the soup bowl was laid to waste as it slopped over the sides and onto the ground, staining it with an unnatural red. 

The guard stared at her for what felt like an eternity as any heat that was left in the liquid was eventually seized by the cold and turned into one of its own, heartless. In that silence, it seemed the air was electrified with a peaceful understanding that their positions in the world weren't all too far apart. Pawns to the unknown, unwilling possibly. If only they knew exactly what was being determined. The guard made to go.

'Thank you.' She said suddenly, piercing the air with an unexpected expression of gratitude. The guard seemed lax for a moment, trying to make sense of the feeling behind the words before she quickly added. 'What is your name?'

'You don't want to know my name…' the Guard replied, a little unnerved as if his name hadn't been important for a long, long time. He was still trying to resist. 'No one will know my name. There is no reason to. I doubt this acquaintance will last that long for either of us.'

Lucy shivered as his sense of pronounced doom, but chose to ignore it. She wanted an acquaintance in this dark as much as she longed for the light. Maybe it would provide her with it. 'I can't just call you nothing…'

The voice paused and considered this problem, and seemed to dismiss it. Lucy felt her heart crack in two as the swish of his cloak seemed to indicate the last of her hope making its bid for freedom. She closed her eyes. She was aware of the person with the voice stepping out of the cell, feeling too weakened to take advantage of its fragile opening. But as he swung the door shut and secured it with an incantation, he leant back into the bars and whispered, as if he couldn't dare let anyone hear him.

'Call me Damien.'

Lucy would have laughed out loud if she had been anywhere but there. 'The son of the devil?'

She could now see his eyes, gleaming through the night. Pale. He addressed her yet again.

'You just don't know how accurate that is.'

And Damien was gone, leaving Lucy alone with the cold.

***

Harry told his story. He was familiar with its words, its phrases sliding off his tongue with astounding fluency, but hearing them all together with his own tones as the generators was a slightly unnerving experience. It was as if the ghosts that had formed so much of his invisible past sprung to life with his words, providing their own brand of pain as he pondered at their actions. He found it increasingly apparent that he couldn't explain one thing without the other, the presence of many unanswered questions making its telling more and more hindered. But still he told her everything: The concepts of magic, the school, the emergence of Voldemort and the formation of a childhood friendship that had such a damning effect on all consequences afterwards. Next to the aftermath of the Triwizard Tournament, It was one of the hardest things he'd ever had to do in his life.

Claudia had remained quite calm and collective throughout the telling of the tale. She still had a grip on Ron's hand, a light, delicate touch that seemed unobtrusive on anyone's part. It was merely a form of reassurance. She had sat there and let the words wash over her, like a revitalising shimmer of radiance that had after years in the dark finally shed light on the most baffling of subjects. She hadn't known what to expect as her young visitors divulged into their most dignified of lifestyles. For it seemed to her that magic held an air of nobility to its name. Not in a pompous way, by any means. It was as if it accepted itself, the good with the bad, like a human accepting their faults. They dealt with them and moved on, but never being able to gain perfection despite the vain hopes of the reluctant of mind. There were always to be two sides of the coin. Magic. She had always said it was magic. And she was right.

When Harry had first mentioned Sirius, the shock to her system was frightening. A spark of nervous anxiety had rushed up her spine, making her jerk in her seat while Ron squeezed her hand to try and calm her down. But she was already tranquil. His words were just confirmation.

'… There are a great many parts I still don't understand.' Harry was saying, a little mystified as to his own epic like it was the first time he'd heard it. 'I don't know why Voldemort wanted to kill my father, but leave my mother out of it. I still don't know why I was such a threat.'

'This is a story with so many twists that even when you live it you can barely keep it up' contributed Hermione, seeming to Claudia like another voice across the room. But somehow she was still able to radiate her smile. Claudia sighed in return.

'But nevertheless,' Harry continued. 'He did. We were the next target, the next pawn to be taken. They needed to be protected. Dumbledore, the headmaster, he suggested this ancient spell where our location would be concealed within a person's living soul, and remain there unless this 'Secret Keeper' chose to divulge it. They had to choose someone they trusted with their lives, and mine.'

There the talking ceased. The silence engulfed the group in a soberly fashion, Ron's grip remaining amazingly tender considering the size of his growing limbs while she felt the others' burning stares upon her, something that transcended her limited senses. But still she didn't reply. She couldn't even if he wanted to, as Harry's next statement sent her into a spiral of total confusion.

'They chose Sirius.' 

'But- ' she suddenly interjected, feeling a huge sense of injustice well in her chest as she ripped her hand away from the Weasley's. 'But I thought… '

'Thought what, Claudia?' Harry urged, as if this was the driving point of the entire tale. She could sense his desperation, clear as glass to her ears as it trembled through his voice. For the first time that day, Harry spoke with the tones not of a young adult with a task to fulfil, but of a child simply desperate for a way to prove the truth. Claudia was compelled to tell. She cleared her throat nervously as she sat up to address them.

'They must have changed. Sirius wasn't the secret keeper. He couldn't have been. He was seeking the other person out, back in the quad. He must have been the secret keeper. They were talking about trust and betrayal. He had him pinned up against the wall, then the other man pushed him off and staggered into the middle of the road - '

'Can you remember his name?'

Harry didn't want to prompt her. It would be dangerous to do so. She needed to confirm the name, the description as he was then, otherwise her evidence would be worth as much as his, Hermione's and Ron's that astounding night back in the Shrieking Shack. Harry, perhaps on one of the few occasions in his life, began to pray.

Claudia could feel the burden begin to settle. The boy depended on the name. The name to cure all ills, to give him back what little family he had left, or that remained out of the Dark Lord's reach. All she had to do was remember the name. 

The paused, her breaths lengthening as she cast her mind back to the day to end all days. She could feel the oncoming winter chill rustling under the bench where the black dog did lie, the exact taste of the tuna and sweet corn roll that had a touch too much mayonnaise, prompting her to hand it to the black beast below. She could hear the voices, muffled in her memory, too disguised to clearly make out. She willed the cloud to lift, to float away into obscurity and expose the truth they so desired, that she desired. The name. The traitor… 

'Peter Pettigrew.'

She spat out the name as if she'd plucked it out of a hat. It had drifted in on the warm summer breeze, the rustling making it echo briefly in her memory as her mouth instantly engaged to expel the treacherous words. She heard it repeated by many, many voices, in both waves of sympathy and gasps of awe by the various individuals who graced the scene after its destruction. But most importantly, she heard it spat through the gritted, bitter teeth of a dark haired man whose eyes flashed with the extremities of grief and vengeance - Sirius. 

Peter was to blame. He was the rat.

'Peter Pettigrew.' She repeated again, as if to confirm it to three pairs of disbelieving ears. She could feel herself begin to shake again. 'He was y-your parent's secret keeper, Harry, w-wasn't he? That's what Sirius was t-talking to him about. He was so angry, so, so angry. I can feel it even now. He betrayed them to Voldemort, and Sirius was hell-bent on revenge. P-Peter blew up the street... he had the wand behind his back. Peter killed all those innocent people. He escaped.' 

'How?'

She paused again, her memory visibly straining to Harry, Hermione and Ron, as her shoulders now convulsed with tearless sobs. 'I couldn't see, Harry…' she moaned, as if only now of all moments it was finally hitting home. 'I couldn't see. My eyes were burning… but I heard him get away. I felt him get away. He trickled across my ankles, I know he did…'

And with that, her face fell into her hands as the rocking motion appeared again, making Ron rise from her side with a flash of urgency and slip an arm around the older woman's shoulder, muffling her cries in the material of his cotton shirt. He held her like a child, stroking her hair while rocking with her quietly, soothing the motion from her erratic shakes to the more controlled sways that seemed more calming than dangerous to watch.

'I think we've done enough for today,' Ron said quietly. The pain in his eyes at the sight of Claudia's suffering spoke far more than any range of words. 'I think we've done enough.'

Harry felt dizzy in his seat at the revelations so few words had brought in the afternoon. He was right. This woman had so much to give, even though it seemed she'd already given her all. To take any more seemed cruel and heartless. He couldn't find any means to reply, but merely sat and stared at the crest fallen witness, still failing to soak Ron's shirt in the way she'd wanted for the past fourteen years of her life. Wormtail hadn't just taken her sight. He'd taken her ability to cry. And that made him feel sick to the bone.

'Harry,' said Hermione slowly, yet again acting the voice of reason. 'I think we should come back tomorrow...' 

Harry didn't shift his eyes from Claudia, who had ceased her sobs but still clung to Ron like a scared and timid child. Harry supposed that entering the world of magic at this late and dangerous point, that it was an accurate definition.

All eyes were on Harry. Ron prised Claudia off and almost lay her back down in her chair, where she sat stiffly and continued to gaze into the abyss of darkness that was a substitute for her vision. It was Harry who had to address her.

'Claudia,' he said finally, as she leant in close to her once again. She didn't seem to sense his presence, or even batter an eyelid. She was passive. 'We are going to need your help. You can free Sirius. You have it all locked up in there, and its something you need to share. Not just for me, but for everyone. We'll take down the Death Eaters one by one if we have to, if it will clear the path to Voldemort. I won't let my parents die in vain.' He stood up, reached out a hand and brushed a stray lock oh hair away from her eyes. 'We'll be back tomorrow. Take care.'

Harry turned immediately and stood in the doorway, waiting wearily for his friends. They said their good byes, both telling Claudia not to worry, that Harry knew what he was doing and that she would in the end be doing an eternal good. They felt Harry's helplessness alongside him, and so remained committed to the cause. Somehow, deep down, Harry knew they always would. He'd do the same for them. United, they left, the door closing with the gentlest of slams as they disappeared into the closing dusk.

They were gone. The people who changed her life in a matter of hours were gone and left in their wake more baggage than they could possibly comprehend. Yet somehow, somewhere, she found herself wanting to hold it. But for now, all she could do is sit and think. The whirlwind, for her, had just become an emotional one.

***

They'd been trawling round in the dark for hours. Street after street, turn after turn, everywhere looked the same. House upon house attached at alternate sides, restricted by mortar as they strived for independence with the occasional pebble dashing or ever growing trellis splashed with climbing roses. But they still couldn't escape their purpose. Post war housing. The curse of middle England. 

The journey from Hermione's hadn't taken them long - less that twenty minutes in fact - but it appeared the kids certainly had a run about town. Sirius had almost taken to curb crawling through the tedious process of following their track, Arabella mumbling to herself with ever growing disapproval as the traces of Veneficium rose and fell with the Medway's tide. Remus looked a little ruffled, having finally liberated himself from the hell's angel's attire, now recovering from the restricting experience in a pair of tattered jeans. Sirius shook his head in temporary disbelief at his friend's ageing attitude. Always the responsible one. He flexed his hands on the handlebars of the bike as fatigue began to settle into his weary, wearing bones. He used to be able to ride for days without a break, dangerous, yes, but somehow the exhilaration of having the coldest of winds whip at your heels whether sky-bound or not was as much recuperation as he ever would need. He lived on the air. It used to skim across his helmet and disappear in the slipstream behind, the feeling of passing through the life giving substance more than magic itself. He could move. He was free. But not anymore.

He gave up his freedom the day he gave up his bike. Even though it was exactly the same machine that roared beneath him now, his freedom was still in the past with that day. The day that marked the beginning of another life, another Sirius Black, a man with a purpose and a plan he could die to carry out. It was that day the pain began its feast, eating at the very corner of his soul in a place no Dementor could ever seem to reach, his sacred place. It was robbed from him just like the light was in the terror that Azkaban personified. But he'd even survived that compared to that day. The day down at Godric's Hollow when he'd sped off down the lane that one last time to try and change a fate that had already been set. He could have Apparated, certainly, but when his instinct kicked in, he wanted to be one with the machine. It gave him the power to hope, so upon Hagrid's arrival he wished to pass it onto his godson. His responsibility. The one, no matter what Remus, Dumbledore, or anyone said, he felt he'd let down the most. Nevertheless, the pain continued to consume. And he would never fail him again.

'This is useless!' moaned Arabella, finally signalling for Sirius to pull in at the pavement at the pointlessness of their exercise. He did so obligingly, even though they'd been at a virtual standstill anyway. 'The readings are too muddled. Wherever these mongrels were heading, they were trying to get someone off track…'

'Either that or they got hideously, hideously lost,' added Remus helpfully, inspecting the magical graph that was illuminating the palm of Arabella's hand as she examined its diving lines. 

Sirius had to stand in awe at the beauty of this particular instrument. Several golden spheres were hanging in mid air above a delicate looking plate, projecting various images onto its silver surface, including a map of the local area as well as any trails they managed to pick up. Streaks of red, green and blue shone brightly in the mild night air, a spectacular light show for the most minuscule of pleasures. Magic could be breathtaking sometimes. But right now, all Sirius could see was a mass of artistic scribbles.

'The reception is lousy…' Arabella sighed, tapping one of the spheres occasionally with her ebony wand to somehow clear the picture. 'They walked all over the place, down this street at least three times I'd say. They were looking for something, and having a pretty hard time finding it, I can tell you.'

Remus was staying silent, examining the projector with a deep sense of concentration that had always unnerved Sirius whenever he saw it grace the Werewolf's face. When Remus was thinking, it was never a good sign. A memory from the marauders. 

'Any chance the picture could clear up?' Remus asked casually, frowning at the image.

'Not tonight, by any means,' replied Arabella, all ready to close up shop. 'Maybe in the morning when the naturally occurring levels have died down. Maybe it's the water. A strong presence of the elements always makes for inaccurate readings.'

'Hmm…' replied Sirius, letting most of the technical jargon go straight over his head. He was always the practical one. Act now, think later. But this time, something caught his eye. A flash of the deepest shade of purple, indistinguishable against the plush colour of the midnight sky across the graph of the projector, mapping it's own path across that of the runaways. It crashed a number of times, like the meeting of fates in a tale across the evening light as planes let their engine steam create their own clouds up above. He wanted to think. He wanted to consider the fourth estate as it suddenly entered the frame and altered the outlay ahead of them. But now he had to act, not change philosophy.

'Did you see that?' he whispered quietly just as Arabella was prepared to shut the instrument down. She froze for a minute; wand already poised to interrupt the charm stream that kept the projector operational as Remus began to follow old Padfoot's gaze.

'Yes,' he murmured. 'Yes, there's another path - it's weak, even I can tell you that, but it's there. Look at it…'

All three stood transfixed for an instant as the purple trace arched its own track, mainly around a similar spot on the map before suddenly shooting off, disappearing at such a speed its delicate hold on reality was almost obliterated. It was almost like the trace projected fear itself. It was unknown.

'It's too faint to be a wizard,' whispered Arabella, almost afraid that any further raising of her voice would disrupt the timid balance. 'And we would have picked it up before. Look, it doesn't have any areas of intensity…' she frowned, puzzled. 'It's as if it were man made. Wizards never project that shade. Purple. It's a creation, a secondary colour…'

'But its there,' said Sirius. 'And I suggest we track it down.'

Remus' frown deepened even more so. 'But Sirius, we need to find Harry. That's our priority. This is probably just some magical anomaly. Not everything is a give away, you know…' 

'Look at it, Remus!' Sirius almost yelled, seizing the projector for himself and causing it to shake in his increasingly unsteady hand. 'Look at the way it crosses! The fates are intertwined. The producer of the purple has something to do with it. Look, the paths, they almost follow. ' He traced it with a finger to emphasise the point. 'And with this sorry tangle of trails, I think this is our only hope.'

'The mass murderer's got a point, Remus,' said Arabella with a hint of the tease ever present in the voice. 'But we're not going to get anything done in this light. I'll put a freezing charm on the graph's current status. We can pick it up in the morning.' She proceeded to do so with a flick of her wand. She quickly packed it away. 'Now,' she said. 'I suggest we go and find some sleazy bed and breakfast and get the grannies talking by asking for a double room.'

Sirius couldn't help but smile at Arabella's mischief as they all mounted the bike once again and sped off silently into the night. They failed to notice the rat jump ship and scuttle up the path of number forty-seven.

***

It was only when she finally headed for bed that Claudia thought of Lucy again. Her mind had been racing in a whirlwind of its own, oblivious to everything around it as she found her memory indulging itself on the surge of fresh information. At first it was blank, horribly blank, like the first fall of snow or an artist's canvas before the assault of colour. But as Harry's words seeped into her brain something seemed to make sense. The Marauders, the Time tuner, the treacherous end. She was aware that many gaps had been filled, the missing memories from that fateful day when the world exploded piecing themselves together to form a cold, calculated conclusion. But there was so much let to tell, and so much left unsaid. There was a hint lingering in the air that something still needed to be done. Sirius Black's freedom still hung in the balance, and that was something she found herself desperate to change. She held the key. She was the witness. She had the fate of a world only imaginary just a daybreak before on her shoulders. And for now, in that one moment of calm before the inevitable storm, she felt prepared to burden it.

But as the wandered into the bathroom yet again to cleanse her face of a day's anxiety, the thoughts of the promising tomorrow became haunting ones of the day gone by. Still no word from Lucy. And for a brief moment, she felt a surge of fear flow through her veins, washing her blood with its pin prick sharpness and waking her from a semi-comatosed state she'd been drifting in since Harry's hushed departure. Lucy, the non-believer. What had become of her now? She felt a creeping sensation enter her bones as the thought occurred she may be caught up in this too. In the danger and in the black. No, she dismissed it. Too convenient, everything interrelated and intertwined like silver spider's web, leaving a trail of deceit and confusion that would only close on them in the end. The sightless fly unable to detect the trap. But Harry would be back with the dawn, and for them she was prepared to have an open mind. Tomorrow was to be a life changing day.

She hadn't bothered for the lights. She had her own darkness to contend with as she quietly entered her uncomplicated bedroom and felt around for her night-clothes. Cotton and comfortable on the warmest of nights. She frowned at the sudden stuffiness of her abode and opened a window, a little ajar, expecting a gush of air so cool and sweet it may have eased the insomnia away. But what she got instead took her breath away.

The air was cool, certainly, but beyond any temperature she'd ever experienced. Cold, lifeless, empty. She gasped in the face of it, as she never sensed it coming, feeling her knees a little weakened as its freezing status seeped beyond her flesh. It was as if the air had crept under her skin, cooling her instantly to unbearable levels as she immediately sought back her summer day in the shelter of her light weight duvet. She turned, anxious, but pushed ever further by the noise down stairs.

'Who's there?'

A creak, that's it. A noisy house on an unusual night. Just the mind playing tricks. She settled down again as the noise returned with a vengeance. Bang.

'Lucy?'

She had no idea what guided her, a supernatural force perhaps, but as the noise manifested itself as a knock on the door, she felt herself drawn to it, no questions asked. Before she departed her bedroom, a swift search of the dressing table brought to her aid a heavy handled curling tong. Defence. She wielded it at arm's length in front of her, brandishing it with the essence of a sword just like Sirius back in the quad. She certainly wasn't a Pettigrew, hiding her schemes behind her back. She could gain maximum impact by being up front. But whoever made the noise on the other side of the door didn't even give her a chance.

She was halfway down the stairs when the door fell of its hinges. She was suddenly aware of a sea of bodies entering her hall, their frantic and desperate nature expelling from their bodies like the smell of rot and decay. She heard the occasional crash from the descent of an ornament as the strangers committed their undefined search, Claudia gripping the banister harder and harder with every tinkling destruction. She heard the swish of a cloak as it sliced through the air. She froze.

'Search this place form top to bottom if you have to…' said a voice, yet undefined. 'The master cannot afford to have his servants exposed.'

Several grunts of acknowledgement came form the direction of the kitchen, when a clatter of copper saucepans made their search even more apparent. The thought then occurred that she had not yet been seen. They believed the house derelict. They treated it as such, not bothering to check for any human contents before proceeding to rip out its heart and soul. If she could just sneak down the stairs and out the front door, judging by the draught still open to the world, then perhaps, just perhaps…

But her thoughts were dead. He stranger was moving. She could feel him shift his feet, dragging them slowly and measured across the hall carpet and place one firmly on the initial step toward her. The stairs. Her heart was screaming wildly in her chest, as its mad erratic beat seemed to match the movements of the man, timid to frantic in the skip of a second. She pressed herself against the banister, hoping to just blend in and praying for an uncertainty she knew would never be delivered. She sank to her knees, defeated before she began. A body, somehow, was behind her too.

'Who are you?' he demanded, in a voice that immediately caused Claudia to let out a desperate sob. He wasn't one for small talk. The man from below grabbed her face with one hand, his freezing fingers clapped chillingly round her cheeks as he dragged her to her feet, trembling under his monster grip. She didn't reply. She could feel something being poked deep into her back, so she didn't even dare to scream. She closed her eyes to the threat.

'Look at me, woman.' Said the voice again, his grip tightening and feeling like her jaw would cave in at any given moment. Her eyes remained shut. 'Look at me!'

At this point she couldn't refuse. She brought her face up under his formidable grip and exposed her pupils to the night, staring at the darkness in front of her, totally unaware that by some hideous coincident, her blank gaze met exactly with her aggressors.

He gasped, and she felt his grip weaken a little as the ice of her eyes hit home. The piercing, invisible stare that she could never see the benefits of was working its magic once again. Her aggressor shivered but was not in the slightest deterred. She felt him smile.

'We've got her…' he said, an evil hint of happiness creeping into his tones. 'I can't believe we've got her. Wormtail!'

He let her drop, as the footsteps of the summoned man approached. Weakened by his hold, as her legs gave way again as she felt a familiar pair of eyes cast sight on her again. Never before had a pair of eyes managed to pierce her boundary of sight, but the pain of that stare, over a decade in the waiting, was enough to send her body rigid with fright. It buckled her defences and sent her tumbling down.

'We meet again.' he stuttered, his nerve not collected but seeming deadlier still. 'But your day would always come, Claudia. You will never escape the dark.'

She kicked. She moaned. She screamed the loudest scream she could ever have mustered but yet no sound appeared in the air. She was frozen. And as the grip of two heavier cronies tightened painfully round her useless limbs to remove her from the scene, Wormtail was in control. And ready for revenge.

'Take her away.'

***

I just can't stop it with the cliffhangers! I need help!

A/N: Ooh, drama! Major thanks to my brand new beloved beta, always a help and never a hindrance, no matter how many grammar errors my lame typing skills produce. You're a godsend darling! Please review and make my day. You never know, it might give me a push in the right direction…


	7. Choices and Chances

A/N: And chapter six is up and rolling

A/N: And we're up and rolling! Things are finally getting together so I hope you're enjoying this as much as I do typing it. Harry pays another trip to number forty-seven while Claudia finally sees the darker side of magic. Ron makes a little discovery of his own to boot. The search is on, and Sirius is set to be in the middle of it. Hmm. Further explanations (dementors etc) aplenty and much more to come. Onwards!

Dis: The universe of Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling, and is used here without her permission. No copyright infringement is intended, and I acknowledge that I have no rights to any cannon characters, settings or events mentioned. I have no intention and no desire to make profit from this piece, as the credit deserves to go to JK Rowling as she invented them and thus owns all rights to them. Not me. Got it? Good. This piece contains a snippet of music Lyrics from the song 'Let in Be' by The Beatles. No copyright infringement intended. 

****

The Unknown Witness

__

Choices and Chances

She awoke to find a pair of eyes staring straight at her. She gasped, taken back at the unsettling nature of its gaze, the palest of blues in the dim and faithless light as her nerves began to settle at the almost familiar sight around her. She breathed out heavily.

'Damien…' Lucy said, addressing the shadow. 'You frightened the life out of me.'

'Easily done in this vocation.' He replied with a slightly bitter twist, his eyes now leaving her face. 'I brought you dinner. It's getting cold.'

Indeed he spoke the truth. She could see the chipped plate beside him, its heat a long gone commodity as whatever substance they now served as nutrition lay unappealing on the tray. Lucy became distracted from the food and examined her companion more closely. He didn't seem to hold such bulk today: it was almost as if he'd left his toughened persona behind and arrived in a purer state, but still concealing his features in the heavy folds of the hood. He seemed afraid of facing up to the world. He was young, she had come to that conclusion. But somehow he even seemed younger than a few hours ago. His hands were now exposed to the filthy dungeon air and appeared hardly scratched by the existence of everyday life, as if he'd been treated with kid gloves. He sat on the floor with his knees half drawn up, elbows resting lazily on the joints as his eyes rose again to watch her consume the meal, the lengths of his cloak dangling dangerously in the damp, unthreatening. He was almost on her level.

He didn't make any attempt to depart, and for some inexplicable reason this came as no surprise. He watched her silently as she dug into her meal, eyes casting down when she tried to grab their gaze in return, the pale glint they held focusing on some object far beyond her reach. Despite the physical even footing, the distance between them was still an apparent barrier. For a moment, a pang of pity seemed to infiltrate Lucy's hardened soul, watching this man who was barely more than a boy sitting there in her cell hunched up like an old man with nothing to live for. She wondered what had changed. 

She continued to eat. He continued to watch. Suddenly someone else entered the frame that caused the air to freeze for both.

They were back: The evil ones. Lucy was aware of Damien standing up to attention, drawing in a breath of such depth it was as if he was preparing for a life long submersion. The Dementors didn't venture to her cell that often: once or twice a day maybe. But it was enough. Enough for them to take away everything that seemed sacred, to feast on her happiness like a rare and rich delicacy, always demanding much more than she could give. Nothing was ever enough. But as she shivered and became prepared to delve into the depths of their breath induced depression, Damien spoke.

'What is it?'

His voice seemed so alien in its context, talking to these creatures like an ally that could be controlled. But thankfully, thankfully it shifted their attention. She felt the warmth edge back into the play as they turned their attention to her guard, who was eyeing them fiercely through bright, narrow slits, the contempt for their existence apparent in the arrogance of his voice.

'Does the Master call?'

No voice came to answer, but Damien understood. He waved them away, his hand almost sending a tide of emotion which drove them from that place and back into the recess of the dark, a distant door Lucy had only been vaguely aware of slamming shut behind them. She shuddered with the sound and looked up at Damien with child like eyes.

'What are they?' she asked timidly, almost scared of the confirmation of the truth.

'Dementors.' He answered shortly, his voice regaining some of its superior tones that were its mask earlier in the dark. The presence of his master's minions had obviously reminded him of his position in the sphere of things. He brushed the dirt off his robes and covered his eyes with the hood. 'Evil things. They feast on your emotions and leave you with the darkest memories you ever possessed. After that, death is a welcome commodity. Strange you're so aware of them…'

'Why so?'

Damien sighed as he felt the necessity to delay the passage to his master. 'Dementors are creatures of the magical realm. I thought we'd established you simply weren't a part of that.'

There was a hint of anger and annoyance in his youthful voice, but somewhere beneath his bitter tones lay a reluctance to submit to them. She just stared into his darkened face to get a better explanation. She succeeded.

'Do you ever get the feeling that you'll never be happy again?' said Damien, his voice trembling a little as if this was a personal delve. 'When the hairs on your neck stand right up on end, and everything seems at a loss, but just a second or two later the thought is pushed out of your mind?'

She nodded, familiar with the bout of doubt that sometimes wormed its way into her brain and refused to move until depression settled in. He continued.

'You wouldn't know it then, but you've come across a Dementor. Muggles can't see them. Some people in my society would add that to the many points of inferiority which should accumulate in your ultimate destruction.'

She gulped, intimidated by this surge of information. 'Then why can I see them now?'

'Magic,' he answered simply, 'has a way of transcending the easiest of natural barriers. You are surrounded by it now, like particles in the air, it can infiltrate your body and poison your veins with an ability you didn't deserve. You adopt some characteristics. You can see and sense their presence. A most effective tool of deterrence. You must sleep now'

This last little sentence tagged on to the explanation was some of the first words he uttered that didn't seem to instruct. Instead he tidied away the tray, a job normally left to the strange goblin like creatures who seemed so willing to serve in their own frantic way, and silently made to leave. She was taken back by his concern as she settled in the darkest corner of her cell to try and get some ever desired rest. He shut the cell door and settled down to watch, his eyes now shadowed by the darkness of the dungeon. His summoning by the master appeared of little importance.

He sat for a long time, just watching. He'd drawn himself (literally) a little wicker stool and seemed settled on its edge, leaning slightly forward as the darkness began to engulf him. She'd grown used to the way it slanted across her cell. It started in the far back corner, where she currently slept in its sound security, before allowing its hands to keep slowly across the stone tiled floor. It devoured any speck of light that previously existed and Lucy had clung onto like her life depended on it. There was no justice. The darkness took no prisoners. But as its passage escaped through the bars and began to engulf the guarding soul himself, she felt herself ask a question that emerged from her half-conscious mind and made no contact with her mind before it entered the rapidly cooling air.

'Why are you treating me like this?'

The answer came back with an unsatisfying retaliation, a little confused. 'Like what?'

'I'm a muggle,' she said quietly, sleep finally entering her emotionally drained brain. 'but you treat me like an equal. You don't hate me like the rest. So what is it?'

But she never heard the answer as sleep took her by the hand and gently guided her away. However he remained. And in the quietest of voices, too timid to speak out, he answered.

'I'd never really met one before.'

***

That night, Harry hadn't slept. He wouldn't have slept, even if he wanted to. His mind had been racing at such a speed, it took a long, long time for his sleeping subconscious to effectively catch up. The result was a restless night, such a thing not at all unusual to the fifteen year-old boy. He had the scars, after all.

Harry, Ron and Hermione had reached the cottage well after dark. Hermione's mother had been standing on the doorstep, foot tapping impatiently as she eyed the temporary runaways with a mixed gaze of amusement and anger. Harry had looked at the woman who had awarded Hermione life and could almost see where her witching genes had come from. For Mrs Granger certainly carried along an air of unnatural grace and precision, normally observed with the dentist's drill and Harry supposed had transferred to the next generation through the wielding of a wand. She too had Hermione's run away hair, but not in the same sheer quantity that adorned her daughter's shoulders. Instead it was fiercely scrapped back in a way reminiscent of Professor McGonagall, giving her a look of such stern authority the last thing Harry wanted to do was cross her. But then he'd cast his mind to the first time they'd met, back in front of Gringotts in Diagon Alley, the muggles who Mr Weasley was incredibly eager to take under his wing and discuss the ins and outs of 'ecklectricity'. The couple who felt out of place, apprehensive in the presence of a world only their daughter could ever understand. But in this instant, they were the ones in home territory.

'And where exactly have you three been?' she'd said inquisitively, raising an eyebrow of suspicion. 'We were wondering if you were going to make it back for tea. Been exposing you to the wonders of the, erm, 'Muggle' world, has she boys?'

Harry had coughed loudly to cover up his snigger at the look of bafflement on poor Ron's face. Thankfully Hermione jumped in before Ron could place them firmly in the doghouse.

'We just went and caught a movie,' she'd said quickly. 'Ron had never been to the cinema, had you Ron?'

'No, never!' Ron had cried with genuine innocence, as that had been the state of play. He'd looked frantically at his companions for a prompt. 'Erm…. It was amazing.' He'd finally said. 'Muggle technology, hey?'

'Well,' said Mrs Granger, obviously accepting the story without a need for explanation. They'd be on the doorstep all night. 'Dinner will be ready in about twenty minutes. You lot better go and wash up. Welcome to normality, boys.'

They had eaten dinner in a sombre silence, any exciting talk about the wizarding world the Grangers had expected remaining firmly out of reach. Instead such discussions had been reserved for their late night rendes-vous after hours in Hermione's den, sorting through exactly what their meeting with Claudia had added to the proceedings, for it was proven that she was the grail of this particular quest. Harry had felt the injustice of the situation sweep over him like a storm, electrifying his anger as yet more victims came into the light cast by Pettigrew's betrayal. Claudia Darlington, by all accounts in evidence around the disruption of her home, had been destroyed by her experience and the confusion the proceeding years awarded. A supreme example of the wrong place at the wrong time. She didn't deserve it, as neither did his godfather. He wanted to fight for both of them. But as Hermione calmly reminded him, the whole situation would be settled with the dawn. For Harry at least, sunrise couldn't come soon enough. 

The night had been restless, but a necessary passing of time allowing for emotions to be settled and energy to be regained. Indeed as the sun finally cleared the rolls of the North Downs and the three of them found themselves tucking into a full-hearty English breakfast, a sense of strength passed across them all. They felt replenished by Mr Granger's full fat cooking and the huge debt they were about to pay back to the man they felt they owed so much seemed to push them onwards. Of course, Sirius alone hadn't been able to stop the darkened threat. He couldn't prevent Cedric's death, or Mr Crouch's or even Frank the muggle's. But the hope and peace of mind he'd given to Harry so many times in the short period they knew him was enough to give them purpose.

Now they were back on the street again, being addressed by the sight of Claudia's abode. As peaceful as the dawn before, it stood basked in the early morning light like a Mecca on the hill, drawing them in by the neck of the injustice they sought the occupant to cure. Harry felt no insecurity when he walked firmly up the drive, his pace determined in a way hardly witnessed by Ron and Hermione, possibly only in the light of the philosopher's stone, which held in its core a much more doom like glare than the plain suburban dwelling. However, as Harry reached with a hand to knock on the door, he froze.

'Harry?' said Hermione quietly as she crept up the path behind him. 'What's wrong?'

He didn't answer, but merely continued to stare blankly at the door in front of him, his face twisted into a horrific splice of torment and heart-breaking pain. Harry was never one to be so open, to display his fear across his features in such a blatant way. Ten years at the Dursleys had been a lesson well learnt. So when Hermione was greeted with this most frozen of expression, she could feel her own heart grow cold.

'Harry?'

He didn't reply, merely pushed at the already open door and began to survey the damage done.

If the house had been in the midst of chaos the day before, that morning it had plunged into Armageddon. Bills and newspaper from the early evening post had been shredded across the floor, crunching slightly underfoot like the lining of a cage from which some rodent was dying to escape. Pots and plants were overturned, a particular blue ornate vase smashed in the wake of the previous intruder and scattered among the debris, the soil it held being trod into the carpet of the hall and mixing with the specks of crimson blood. A curtain rail hung desolate from its fastening at the wall, tagged down in one last moment of mercy leaving a few crumbs of plasterboard trickling onto the windowsill as the cracks around its socket became a permanent fixture. The struggle was apparent. 

Hermione had to hold her hand up to her mouth to prevent herself from being sick. She could feel the gasp escape her throat as the followed Harry into the destruction, Ron emitting a similar level of concern as Harry dashed into the depths of the house. The frantic worry that now etched itself onto her black-haired friend's face caused Hermione to signal to Ron to scout out upstairs as she went into the living room to survey the extent of the damage. It was worse than the hall: Paintings slashed, china smashed, furniture turned upside down… even the stuffing from the very chair Claudia had spilled her secrets from lay scattered across the floor, like entrails left in the wake of a monster intent on devouring all that was sacred. She looked around desperately for something to hold on to, as the dizziness that was creeping into her mind made her legs feel like giving way under the extremity of shock this sight bestowed upon her. She sank to her knees.

At that exact moment, Harry burst back into the room. His eyes were bulging with a new sense of panic, flashing green and as wide as the moon as they tried franticly to absorb all these new events. But before he spoke, Hermione dashed in.

'Claudia…' she said suddenly, as if the thought that had been lingering in her mind as soon as she'd stepped in the door was fresh in her memory. 'Where's Claudia?'

Harry shook his head, biting his lip in such a helpless way Hermione's own concern heightened to match. He almost choked.

'Hermione…' he whispered hoarsely, 'Look out the window…'

This she did. Struggling to her feet and Harry taking her sharply by the elbow, he guided her to look out the patio, down along the pretty garden to the brightening sky above. There hung a shape that would never be mistaken. Green wisps of cloud lay suspended in the air, faded a little in the morning breeze and slowly melting into the blue topaz sky. Yet it still lingered with fear as they formed the most hideous shape that they could ever be faced with. A skull, its mouth wide open in a menacing grin as a slithering snake protruded from its bare bone lips, sparkling with its own sense of genius. Hermione heaved.

'Harry?'

Both froze. The voice that had uttered the name wasn't Harry's own, or Hermione, or even Ron who was still dealing with the wreckage that savaged the upper house. In their outside observation, neither had notice the entrance of this third body, with a voice still rasping from the pain of fourteen years injustice as the rustle of his leather finally brought him to their attention. Hermione was completely aware of the wave of temporary relief that washed over Harry that could only be delivered by one individual in his life. He turned around and gasped.

'Sirius…'

***

Claudia had given up trying to understand the world as soon as she left that depression induced coma the explosion bestowed upon her. But it was times like these, being shackled in invisible chains by a secret enemy to an unknown location, she was grateful for her desire not to question. Some things were never meant to make sense. If the events of the last twenty-four hours hadn't taught her that, nothing would.

Wherever she was, it was large. She could hear her breathing echo round the room, the stone walls giving her wheezing an amplified acoustic that did little for her nervous nature. Every shake in her inhalation was brought frightfully to her attention, but whether she shivered from fear or the penetrating cold, she found she couldn't say. The ice like air was biting her bones, the weakness spreading through her body like a poison in her veins, making her feel even more defenceless in the unfamiliar surroundings. It was empty and she was alone, as far as she could tell. No one was speaking at least.

She had always wondered where her blindness would lead her. She always imagined being able to retreat into a perfected imagination, her writing that was by the day just an over ambitious hobby proving to be a genuine talent, something that could shine through for the lack of anything else. Sat the other end of the scale, it would be the end of the world. And she was certainly aware what end of the spectrum her fate currently resided in. The cold was eating away at any hope of getting out alive. 

Shuddering again at the cold steel bands that sat at her wrist and ankles, she thought back at the invisible faces that were dependent on her existence. Lucy, with her fizzing bacon and age old stare, always the carer who enjoyed it much more than she thought. The boy Harry, a relatively new voice that had always been there, hoping against hope that Claudia alone would deliver him a long overdue happiness he and his friends would risk their lives to gain. A friendship that was built the strongest bridges imaginable that appeared a replica for the family that was stolen in the same way as her sight. And as she cast her mind back to Sirius, the centre of it all, looking at her in the quad behind those dog-like eyes out for revenge, she wondered again where she fitted in the giant jigsaw. Or whether it had grown another thousand pieces that would never seem to fit.

'My Lord…'

The room began to fill, but not with the heat she desired. Claudia in fact felt a wave of weakness hit her flagging state as the unknown figures entered the room once more, rapidly filling it with a new sense of frost. She could feel her lip begin to tremble. She had never thought of herself as the strong and silent type, but this situation called for both abilities in abundance. She let her head hang low, chin left limp upon her chest as she felt as useless as a rag doll discarded at the bottom of the heap. That feeling wasn't improved as she felt two rough and overpowering arms lift her to her unstable feet, flanking her sorry state as she felt herself being presented to the invisible master. As she attempted to grasp her last ounce of strength to stand tall among her guards, she heard the voice from the stairs address the present hoards.

'My Lord,' he rasped in a drawl that made her cringe. 'My fellow servants, we have succeeded in our task much more than we could imagine. We were sent out to regain a simple object and we came back with a much larger prize…'

Claudia was aware of a hundred eyes focused on her once again as she rose her head to meet them unknowingly, her lips now forming into a thin line of defiance at whatever her captors expected her to do. She made no attempt to reply. 

'Indeed,' came another voice into the madness of the fray. 'I feel we have gained a most effective bargaining tool, Wormtail. But she was not your primary goal. I cannot allow for such disobedience. You know the punishment. _Crucio_.'

Claudia could feel the whole room wince unanimously as the pain struck home on the defenceless servant. His screams of pain, muffled occasionally into tiny sobs for the pleasure of company almost made her lip tremble again. It was as if the spell had electrified the air, the pain that was frying the victim's nerves making an imprint on everyone's minds so they knew that taking the initiative wasn't always the wisest choice. But what caught Claudia's sensitive hearing the most was the voice that issued the instruction. It didn't bellow out its authority, but maintained it in cold, cruel tones that nobody dared to challenge. It was almost a hiss, snake-like in its quality as it slithered into the frozen air. He held a genuine fear around himself, encasing his body like a protective field. She was scared of him, and knew instantly who he was.

'Lord Voldemort expects nothing less than perfection from his servants.' he cackled. 'Let that be a lesson to you all. Now bring the prisoner forward.'

That was her cue. She could feel the guards either side of her brace themselves for a struggle, but she offered them none. Instead, the frozen fear that had installed itself in the pit of her stomach became an unusual source of strength, so she strode forward alone, a feeling of recklessness in the face of danger becoming her motivation. She shouldn't have anything to fear. She couldn't see the gleaming red eyes and slits for nostrils that heaved with every breath, sniffing the air and sensing her filth. But she was perfectly aware of his stare as he spoke in a quiet and dangerous voice. She flinched involuntarily.

'Muggle,' he spat in the softest of tones. 'You stand in the presence of the Dark Lord Voldemort, ruler of the greatest domain, but you cannot be bothered to even open your eyes. You personify everything I hate about your kind, Ms Darlington. Look at me.'

She didn't want to. Unlike back in the house, she knew the ice of her eyes would have no effect upon the cooling of his temperament. But suddenly as the creature muttered an unrecognisable word, she had a wonderful sense of drifting on the breeze, free as the air and willing her to open her eyes, open her eyes…

'Ah yes, I see,' Voldemort said cruelly as Claudia responded to the Imperius curse. He was holding a spider-like hand over poor Claudia's forehead, sensing her mood along with her tale. 'Wormtail did a very clumsy job here. Rushed magic always has undesired side effects, as many of us are aware…' He seemed to shake the thought out of his mind before continuing. 'But yet in your brashness, Wormtail, you again open up to us ample opportunity.'

Wormtail was close to exploding with unexpected pride, gathering himself together respectfully as his limbs continued to ache in the after marth of his master's torture. Claudia could sense his jittering at the very edge of her subconscious as everything else was focused on the common foe in front of her. These were the people who between them killed Harry's parents, she thought. The people who put that tinge of sadness in his adolescent tones. The people who allowed the guilty to go unpunished. Although she knew a million others had been touched by their accumulative cruel hand, she could find her justification to hate from Harry and Sirius alone. She found herself snarling a little.

'Look!' said Voldemort with some form of amusement. 'The muggle growls! Oh how beast-like. Primitive. But you know about our world and have been inflicted with a distorted view only the light sees fit to portray. I daresay you've met my dear friend Mr Potter?'

She tried not to react, to give nothing away. But she knew better than to hope her vain attempt was successful. He sighed victorious as she accidentally projected a response.

'Ah yes, Mr Potter. Likes to think he's older than his years, better than his feeble capabilities. He has had luck on his side for far too long, Ms Darlington. What he is yet to comprehend is that wherever there is magic, there will always be the dark. There will always be a fight. And the light is yet to escape from this unscathed. But alas he is young. His lesson is still to be learnt. And I dare hope you will be of aid in Mr Potter's education.'

She narrowed her eyes instinctively, suspicious of her position in this coldly calculated game. She didn't like it one bit, and was perfectly prepared to make the enemy aware of it.

'What do you want from me?' she spat into the air, her words tinged with a silent fury generated from somewhere she didn't know. Voldemort just laughed.

'What we want? Oh my dear child, you are unwise in the ways of the dark side. What we want and what you'll get are two greatly outweighed things. I think you will find yourself at the better end of the bargain.'

She heard the Dark Lord stand, the rest of the room immediately stepping back as she was aware of the figure striding towards her. He lifted a heavily cloaked arm and trailed a thin spidery finger long the line of her jaw. It was ice like, as if no heat of human life remained within his veins. The being was barely human. She tried to turn her head away but his finger continued to trail as he spoke.

'Wormtail's charm was very experimental…' he hissed, his finger never leaving her face. 'I was in the midst of developing that advanced killing curse when the fates decided to turn against me. The side effects weren't measured. But I can certainly assure you that any 'blindness' would be temporary.' 

She blinked fast but didn't move, her breath remained stationary in her throat. Was he really saying?…

'Think about what you saw muggle. Think about it. It was crowded, the street. The figures were far away. Can you be certain of what you saw? Is Sirius Black completely blameless?'

She truly began to quake in his presence. 'But I know what I saw.' She whimpered. 'I've known it for years. Wormtail blew up the street, you just said so yourself. He blinded me. He framed his friend…'

'Do you know…' interrupted Voldemort, drawing back from Claudia and allowing her to sink to the floor, weakened again. 'What they did to all the other muggles, the survivors in the quad?' she shook her head. 'They wiped their memories. The most simple of charms, but wonderfully effective. Think about it Claudia. They've gone through life with peace of mind, none the wiser. Ignorance is bliss. You were denied that opportunity. All we are doing here is giving you back that chance…'

She couldn't take it in. What was he saying? She didn't want to take it in. She wanted to break the chains that bound her so tightly and run as fast as she could, run from the danger, run to the safety and sanctity of her old and familiar life, beyond the prison, beyond the blinding light. But it was lost, and Voldemort for all his evil seemed to offer a straight path back. No, she couldn't, what about Harry? Why were they doing this? Voldemort continued to taunt her with possibilities as she felt her mind being devoured by the haze.

'… Servants of the dark mark are always greatly awarded. The deal is simple, Ms Darlington. You promise to take the memory charm, your vision will be returned. You will not remember a thing. The past fourteen years will simply exist as normal for you. You will have your old life back, your spirit and your soul. Simple muggle that you are, dependant on your sight for all of life's pleasures. If you chose the less noble choice, attempt to help your new little friends and defend the traitor Black, you will not be the only one to face the consequences…'

And she gasped. Just as suddenly as the wave of Imperius made her obey the dark lord, something flashed across her eyes, more than a memory and piercing her heart with the pain it induced. Sight. She was seeing something, not a memory, but an image as fresh as the dew on the early morning grass, as real as her fingertips making her reach out and touch. She saw with her own eyes a dungeon she presumed she currently stood in, the cold infesting her skin and bone as her eyes hungrily feasted on the image produced. The walls were the darkest shade of grey, dripping with disease-ridden damp and making her cringe at its hideous touch. Nothing could survive for long in these sorts of conditions. But her eyes seemed to strain in the dark to bring another image to her attention. There was a bundle of rags in the corner of the cell, moving a little as the creature beneath began to stir and bring itself to life. She leapt back in horror, edging as far away from the thing as possible as it finally emerged from its chrysalis as some ill-deformed creation, the scream that wanted to escape from Claudia's throat finally being muffled as the creature looked at her full on.

'Lucy?'

For it was her sister, her own caring, kind-hearted sister, left to rot in the dungeon pit form hell, staring out toward her with a desperate plea for help in her eyes. The life had been snuffed out. Claudia tried to call for her, to take a step closer and hold out to her a reassuring hand, but found herself routed to the spot by some unwanted angelic force. She couldn't move. She tried to scream, scream out at her captors that an injustice had been committed, to tell Lucy that everything would be all right and that she would set her free. But Lucy saw right through her. She hadn't even acknowledged her presence. Instead she breathed a life weary sigh and returned to the solace that only sleep could ever deliver. And with that, the illusion faded and Claudia found herself back in the large room with the evil laughter and back in the dark.

'I suppose you will see your sister again in death,' Voldemort pondered as Claudia found herself openly weeping. 'But alas, being so close to it myself once upon a time, I can say it lacks a certain appeal. You have a choice Claudia. You know which one to take. You will tell me in the dawn. Take her to the cells.' 

***

Harry yet again found himself on the explanation, but this time he held with it a guilt complex that threatened to eat him from the inside out.

'Sirius…' he'd begun, a little shocked but eternally grateful that exactly the right person had shown up at exactly the right time. 'I didn't mean for any of this to happen, I swear I didn't! I was only trying to help, I...'

But Harry had then found himself gripped fiercely by his shoulders by the much older man who looked prepared to shake the very life out of him

'Harry!' he said in a panicky tone, still unsettled and looking deep into his emerald eyes. 'Do you think I care about something as insignificant as that with that thing literally hanging over our heads?' He crushed Harry to him in an all-embracing hug, almost sighing with relief as he came to believe his Godson was real. 'I'm just glad that you're safe. When I saw the mark I just thought…'

Harry could feel a strange lump begin to form in his throat, and he swallowed it roughly as he pulled away form his father's best friend. A warming thought sank to the bottom of his stomach, something ebbing his bones with unknown hope when he came to realise with this meeting that someone actually cared if he were dead or alive. The strangeness of that feeling was something the Dursleys had forever implanted in him. And with that the guilt began to spread.

He was vaguely aware of Hermione greeting Sirius' companions as the familiar ragged shape of Remus crept into the scene with Arabella upon his heels. Remus' eyes had lit up upon the sight of one of his favourite pupils as she bounded up to him with an energy unheard of in that most demoralising of surroundings. Remus had raised his wand to wipe it clean at once, but Arabella stopped him, pressing down lightly on his raised wand with only a touch of imposed control, making Remus immediately withdraw. She looked almost ashamed.

'Professor! Professor!' Hermione cried. 'Thank Merlin you're here! They've taken Claudia! She's gone! We've got to go after her…'

'Whoa!' said Arabella, finally entering the conversation. 'Need to rewind! Clarify your definitions a bit, girlie. Something along the lines of Claudia, they, taken, and, erm, where?'

Hermione frowned a little at this strange form of address from the marauder's new companion, but shrugged it off as an interesting mannerism. She looked at Harry, her eyes full of concern. She sighed. 'Do you want to tell it, or shall I?'

'No, I should Hermione…' Said Harry, looking more dejected than she had ever seen him. He sat down wearily on the now tatty old sofa, head held in his hands as he muttered his apologies. 'It was my battle, my plan. My responsibility. I thought I was helping, Sirius. I didn't want to cause all this trouble. I just wanted to do my bit to make everything a bit easier...'

'Harry,' said Sirius softy. 'Its never going to be that simple. Just say what you have to say.'

So Harry began.

***

Ron, of course, didn't hear any of the conversation that followed. He didn't even know of the three extra people who existed on the floor below. And right at that very instant of time, it wouldn't have mattered if he did. There were other things to deal with.

The upstairs of number forty seven hadn't been as massacred as below, but was still of decimated proportions. The floor was still littered with the contents of the gutted household, and although a sight that lacked the sinews of its human counterpart, it still sickened Ron to almost the same effect. As he shuffled around the painful devastation, he couldn't help the wave of hideous anger that consumed him whole and made blood boil in his veins. Claudia didn't ask for this. She didn't demand to be in the middle of it. She was just there. 

He treasured his own house. The burrow, with all its creaks and ghouls in the attic, had a little charm to itself that made it entirely Weasley. Where you lived became part of your soul, intertwined with your well being as witness to the best of your rise and falls. It wasn't just your house. It was your home. It was a part of you that could never be taken away, but when touched and disturbed like the flood of a lava flow across the fertile plain, the feeling of loss would be insurmountable. The house became your family. Ron supposed as this most vague of thoughts crossed his mind, that this was the secret behind the success of the Hogwarts four. Your house was your home, your family and your life. Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff and Slytherin. The sorting hat imposed upon you the grandest sense of pride with your belonging. You sought to protect it and give it your all. And woe betold it to anyone who dared to challenge it. As with any home, anywhere to any individual on earth, it was exactly the same story. Every house told a story. And Ron in the face of all this wrong, was desperate to find out the truth.

He walked slowly along the hall, frightened out of his wits of disturbing even the smallest of item, as if they had a direct connection to Claudia's well being. She was a woman who relied on smell, sound and familiarity. To have a house full of strangers, unwelcome beings, intent on destroying the perfect harmony so carefully constructed must have been heartbreaking. It was a simple house, not too cluttered with unneeded ornaments or bits of decoration. Everything had a place in the order and needed to be kept there. Ron was perfectly aware the house had other occupants, but he couldn't shake of the sense that Claudia had a certain hold over the place. Hall, bathroom, sister's bedroom. All turned over and over without a shadow of respect. He felt his stomach churn again as he walked into Claudia's abode.

He stood on the threshold, unsure whether to venture in and disturb the peace again or whether to ignore the facts and turn back downstairs. A personal space was sacred. His room in the burrow was the one thing that was his, out of the borrowed wands and second hand bedspreads that seemed to infiltrate the rest of his life. That room had been created for him and he made it his own. Looking at Hermione's place, she did exactly the same, a home. He just preyed it wasn't ruined. He reached up and gasped the door handle in a large, oversized palm, and considered the limb for an instant, smiling with a memory. Claudia had been able to ascertain so much from that one little touch, her small delicate hand gracing his won, the smile edging over her lips as she analysed every square inch of the flesh. Familiarity. He didn't want the smile to be ruined. He wanted to help. He entered.

He didn't react as badly as he thought as he surveyed exactly what the intruders had done in the room. Her pillowcases were ripped and the feathers spilling every where, like a small avalanche cascading to the floor, the most delicate of falls, yet so harsh in its necessity. The spreading of the contents just seemed to emphasise that fact. But the damage looked worse than it was. As he fully stepped into the ruined surroundings, he realised the intruders must have been interrupted. They must have been called away. Items were dropped, not just swept aside, like a sudden summoning had diverted their attention. He sighed with an air of gratitude than they were called away so soon. Nothing taken.

But as he turned to leave, a small item he'd have never placed in these most ordinary of surroundings caught his eye and beckoned to be noticed. He frowned a little at the sight, wanting to dismiss it to make life that little bit simpler, but the nagging courageous Gryffindor that thrived within his veins begged him to investigate for important implications. The item was hidden by the bed, only the very tip visible beneath the mounds of duvet and rigid bed frame. It was almost hiding from the world itself. But even in the most heavy of disguises, there was no mistaking what it was. The most valuable item in the world, at least to one person. Something that someone, somewhere, couldn't bear to be without. His wizarding tool. A wand. 

He didn't want to touch it, laying in its dormant state in the room of a muggle woman who just twenty-four hours before hadn't known of its real intent. He didn't know what to do. Pulling the covers back and shifting the bed aside, he was able to view it in its full perspective. A quality Ollivander make. Eight inches he'd guess some sort of Scandinavian wood. He shook his head for a minute as he realised how like the ancient wand maker he was beginning to sound to himself. But there was no denying it hadn't been used for a long, long time. The whitened tips were grey with grime, no magic expelling from its powerful core in the recent weeks at least. He didn't know what to do.

'Harry!'

His call went unanswered, he guessed his counterparts were in some other part of the house and caught up in their own horrific discoveries. He didn't like it one little tiny bit. Harry always knew what to do, Hermione ever present behind with at least one wise word of wisdom. Let it be. It was only a wand. But like unattended luggage at the airport or the plane, it had a destructive nature that no one could predict. Dormant magic was a dangerous entity indeed. Despite his better conscious, he took a step closer.

To his own surprise, he proceeded to crouch down and look more intensely at the object. After a minute or so, he found himself on the verge of calling Harry again when he stopped himself as the first letter of the name began to form upon his lips. No. Harry was his best friend, almost like a brother, even if it seemed he had enough of those for the world. Harry was his confidant. His protector from the evil. Harry was everyone's protector, and to have one less of those on his shoulders wouldn't do him any harm. And as Ron felt himself lose the will to battle his limbs, that oversized hand reached out of its own accord and seized the wand firmly round its waist. There. Done it. 

'Ron! Ron, its Sirius! Come down!'

Harry's voice echoed up the stairs and into Ron's ears just as he felt them turn very red indeed. Harry needed him, and he was ready to reply. He slipped the wand neatly into his pocket for consideration later on in the proceedings as he acknowledged the call and departed from Claudia's room. He was Ron Weasley. And he was finally about to do something. 

***

A/N: And there we go! More Sirius in the next chapter, I promise. Hope this is working out OK and all. Thanks again to the beta queen Kim. You're my saviour from the states. Grin! I seem to be specialising in leaving things hanging in the air. I will write something with a bit of closure at one point. The last chapter, heh heh!

Read and review a better writer make, hint hint.


	8. Spies and Souls

A/N: Ahhhg! I'm still going! More Sirius this time and general wham bam drama. R/R as if your life depends on it. Oh, and the NHS is the National Health Service. UK's free health care system. Sucks big time, but it certainly saves on the insurance. PG for one little swear word. REVIEW! 

Dis: I own the unknown witness and her associates. JKR owns all the other characters and the concept the witness was witness to. The wonder of Keith Fraser owns the idea I use of Wizarding higher education. (See his excellent fic Ginny the Vampire Slayer for details, as well as the Parallel universe problem. Ali G and LOTR in the same fic? Genius!) Anything you don't recognise as mine belongs to someone else. Time to type now…

****

The Unknown Witness

__

Spies and Souls

As Ron descended the stairs to join the group, Harry rounded off his tale. All the way through, he'd been looking desperately into his godfather's eyes, desperate for some kind of authorisation, a scolding for his irresponsibility, anything. But Sirius had remained impassive, his own sight focused on some unknown object too far away to reach. It was as if he was letting the words seep over him like he had the Dementors at Azkaban: The effects seeming minimal due to a barrier of natural defence, a simple blockage that drained his face of all reaction. But somehow, underneath it all, Harry knew he was screaming.

'So let me get this straight…' he said, stretching the skin across his forehead with his coarse and ageing fingers. 'This woman, Claudia. She saw everything and didn't get her memory wiped. She can confirm my story from the quad.' His face seemed pale from merely listening. Sirius looked at Harry, barely believing him and using the darkness of his stare to challenge the truth. But Harry stared right back as his Godfather continued. 'You tracked her down, talked her round, and you turned up this morning and…'

'Found the house like this.' said Hermione, shaking her head sadly. 'She's gone. And I have a hunch is wasn't of her own free will…'

Ron shuffled into the room at this point, hands deep in his pockets looking as downcast as the rest. He looked on the verge of speech, but one fearful eye cast around the room showed it was inappropriate. He shoved a few broken bits of china to one side with his foot, a scowl of anger and distaste gracing his normally cheerful face. It didn't suit him.

'It's the same upstairs.' He muttered quietly before the conversation proceeded.

'What I don't understand…' said Arabella, who was perched on the windowsill, her brown bark-like hair being illuminated by the summer sun. 'Is _how _you tracked her down. It was fourteen years ago, for Merlin's sake… The Ministry wouldn't have any records if they didn't wipe her memory. And unless you've all turned into computer hackers overnight and trounced over the NHS, I can't quite see your angle.'

Harry was frowning a little, his expression aimed at Sirius in particular. 'But I thought…'

'Thought what?' came his reply, as sharp as anything.

Harry looked at Hermione, a little unsettled. She picked up the mantle. 'So if it wasn't him…'

'If what wasn't me?' Sirius said, his voice beginning to be trickled with alarm. 'Harry, if there's something you're not telling me…'

'No, no.' he trembled, his own hand now digging for an object in his pocket. 'It's not like that. You see, I did more than find the witness, Sirius- ' The object was finally revealed. 'I went back to the scene of the crime.'

He held out in his palm the time turner, turning it slightly and exploring the mahogany joints with his tender fingers, each part as he examined it melting into the other with a horrific sense of ease. It chilled him to hold it now, so he was very relieved when he plucked it from his own grip and laid it to rest on the broken coffee table. Remus was staring at it with a look of peacefulness residing in his face. For him, something seemed to be making sense.

'I went back to 1981.' Said Harry hurriedly. 'I didn't mean to, I didn't do it deliberately. I was just looking at the time turner and turned it over in my hands… it just happened. I went back to the hospital and found her, right after the explosion. She was in an awful state, so confused I thought she'd just explode right there, scream herself into nothing. I told her it would be all right, Sirius, that she'd be safe. She must be so scared, and it's all my fault…'

'No!' Sirius almost leapt out of his chair as this statement, but instead reached across and placed a brotherly hand on Harry's weakened shoulder. 'No, Harry, it's not your fault. These things are never anybody's fault, and if you spent all your life sheltering the blame, you wouldn't be fit to solve it.'

Harry sighed heavily, his shoulders drooping under his godfather's grip as he allowed the words to seep into his paranoid brain. But Hermione still sensed his apprehension.

'He's right,' she said, now sitting on the arm of the chair Harry rested in. 'Don't blame yourself, otherwise we'll never get out of this in one piece.'

He smiled back at his friend, then turned to face responsibility. 'The time turner. I thought you'd sent it, Sirius. I thought it was a belated Birthday present or something. Hedwig brought it, so I just presumed- '

'Never presume anything, Harry,' said Arabella. 'That's the first thing they taught me at Oxford. Didn't get my first for nothing…'

This seemed to push a pin into Hermione's academic mind. Her eyes flashed with intrigue as she sat up and addressed the stranger. 'You went to Oxford?'

'Yeah, years ago. Post-grad stuff, mainly. Impossibly difficult transfiguration and so on.' Arabella grinned a little at Gryffindor's brightest. 'It's amazing what you can get away with when you say you're doing a Metallurgy degree…'

'But that's beside the point.' said Sirius, hurriedly. He wanted to get to the bottom of this. 'Whoever sent it to us was either giving you a push in the right direction…'

'…Or pushing you into the shit.'

'Thanks, Babs. But like she said, we need to treat it with caution. Never trust anything that can think for itself if you can't see where it keeps its brain…'

'My father always says that.'

'Then he's a sensible bloke, Ron. Magic is a wild, untamed beast. We may have it, but it doesn't mean we understand it. We don't control it, it controls us. It creates the good with the bad. It's much more deep-rooted than most people care to realise. I don't know what to make of it, Harry,' he said, shrugging his shoulders a little as he glanced at the object again. 'But I sure as hell don't trust it. Don't let it out of your sight. But for now I could murder a cup of tea. Where's Remus?'

Arabella frowned, not having noted his absence and craned her neck to look out the patio doors. 'I think he just stepped out for a bit…'

'I'll go put the kettle on,' said Harry suddenly, a surge of energy suddenly grasping his weary frame. Ron and Hermione frowned at his sudden urge to fuse eastern spices. He shrugged it off. 'Then we can plan the next move.'

'Metallurgy?' Ron muttered as Harry left the room. He was shaking his head in a haze of disbelief. 'That isn't even a word…'

***

Remus was sitting on a garden chair in the scatty back yard when Harry came to ask him how he took his beverage. He held his head in his hands, his shoulders sagging, and failed to notice Harry's hesitant approach. Harry stood behind him for a while, uncertain what to say now the tale had been told. But then he didn't need to.

'I knew it was you,' said Remus suddenly, raising his head to turn and stare penetratingly at Harry. 'Back at Charing Cross. You were the kid in the corridor, weren't you?'

Harry hung his head, his mind flooded with a mix of sadness and shame. He hadn't known what had possessed him to approach the elder figure that night, the strangeness of the day overwhelming him into a number of actions he'd never be able to explain. But Remus picked it up.

'You didn't do anything wrong, Harry…' he said solemnly, looking up at the fifteen year old from his twisted position on the bench. 'You didn't put a toe out of line. You're a boy who acts on instinct, and that instinct tends to be horrifically accurate at times. Do you know what I was thinking before you came to talk to me?'

Harry shook his head, a slight prickling feeling emerging deep in his throat. Remus took a deep breath, as if he'd been wanting to say this for a long time.

'That this was it. I thought I'd reached the end of the road. What you've got to understand, Harry, is that by the time you encountered me, everything seemed lost. The rug had been pulled from beneath my feet and I was on the verge of falling. Lily, James and Peter, all dead in a week. Sirius as a traitor seemed as lifeless as the rest. I had nothing. I was perfectly prepared to walk out of that hospital, stride out into the middle of Westminster bridge and just end it all there.'

All Harry could do was stare as he felt a strange swell of emotions in the pit of his stomach. He'd always regarded Remus as one of the strongest people he knew, the tireless professor who could always solve a problem, the reassuring voice in the mist of a crisis, the mediator. What he tended to forget when looking back to the struggle of the third year was that Professor Remus Lupin was a human being too. And one that was certainly more prone to being pushed to the edge.

'There was one thing I always regretted in the madness of that week,' he said suddenly, breaking the stunned silence that had brewed between them. 'I never got the chance to say thank you. Whoever that boy was, the boy with the piercing green eyes who looked so much like James, there is no doubt in my mind he saved my wretched life. Don't lose the faith, he said. And you know what?' he smiled genuinely. 'I didn't.'

He stood up with an air of measured urgency, as he turned to face Harry once again and offered his ageing hand. Harry took it.

'Thank you, Harry,' he almost whispered, clasping his second hand warmly over Harry's and giving it a grateful shake. 'I owe you a life debt…'

Harry smiled sullenly, suddenly remembering the cowardice in Pettigrew's gruesome face, all that time ago back in the shack whilst trying to take in the professor's words.

'And I'm sure, some day, you'll be aware how useful they can prove to be.' He finished, bringing his eyes up to Harry's. 'The wizarding world has owed you a debt for years, but somehow I think that it will never be repaid.' 

Harry smiled quietly at the professor but didn't make to reply, merely standing up to answer the scream of the kettle.

***

But somewhere else, someone was screaming too. A blood curdling scream, one of complete devastation, desperation and pure and utter torment. It was the type of inhumane sound that caused people standing by to pluck up their ears, wrench with a pain of their own and try to soothe out the agony that caused it. But deep in another cell, surrounded by the torment in the darkness of her mind, there was no such peace for Claudia.

She shuddered awake. No one around. Time and space seemed completely alien entities to her at that moment, the floor unfamiliar below her aching fingertips as she struggled to her feet, her whole body shivering with a sense of dread and unknown doom. Was it all a dream? No, someone said firmly, it was a choice. She walked slowly, one foot tenderly in front of the other until she reached the bars of her prison, freezing metal poles that encased within their grace her freedom and her sanity. She enclosed a bar in the palm of her hand, feeling its coldness secure itself to her flesh like ice, sticking right there and refusing to let go. Let her go. And then she began to think.

Thinking was always a dangerous occupation. She had spent too much time thinking in the past, in the fresh darkness that engulfed the early eighties for her, being confronted with little else to do as she followed the doctors orders to adjust and recuperate. That pushed her to the edge of madness, having to reconsider every little step she'd made and analyse its purpose. It was all about herself. 

She supposed it was all part of the torture, having to decide her own fate. Betray herself, her natural drives, for the life of an unknown stranger, or leave him and everyone who depended on that justice in the cold. Having to stand in front of that man, that half man whose evil protruded the air and pierced her soul itself, and admit which way you'd turn churned her stomach like nothing before it. She shivered with the thought. There was so much she didn't understand. How was she supposed to make a decision when she only had half the facts?

She breathed out again, the air that escaped easily defined from the dungeon draught by its warmth and vibrancy upon her paling skin. It was a shaky sigh, one that personified the doubt that eclipsed her mind at that moment. Everything depended on her. So she listened.

She didn't know what she was listening for, but it was the only prompt she ever relied on. The whistling of the wind was often a muse, whispering ideas into her receptacle brain that she'd long to get down on paper before they evaporated into the unstable air, rejoining the natural forces that caused such rage in inspiration. But the wind was whispering fear. It whisked around the stone walls of whatever abode she was in like a circus trainer whipping the bear, causing moans of anguish what didn't seem possible in the human sphere of ability. She wondered from whom they originated, and felt her stomach churn as it dawned on her that her beloved Lucy was down here to.

Lucy. Poor, confused, frightened Lucy. The sister who just over a year ago had fizzed the bacon in the pan, telling her that wizards belonged in Fairy tales, in best-selling children's books that got almost banned for their apparent pagan values. And now they were living it. Claudia remembered for a moment the vision, the cruel, heartless sight the dark lord bestowed upon her mind of Lucy, her sister's dirty blond hair smeared horribly across her face, pale with the effort of existing in a circumstance she knew nothing about. Her sister was sharing this with her, possibly just metres away. Separated by stone. She was close. 

Close. The thought suddenly dawned on her. 

'Lucy?'

The loudness of her voice was startling for an instant, in the context of nothing being able to halt its echoes as the sound of her cry gradually filled the empty cavern. She held her breath, not daring to release it again in case she missed it, the smallest of replies, the smallest of mummers, of hope.

Tap.

Her heart ceased to beat for an instant, too aware of every creak to take in the necessity of living. She listened again.

Tap tap tap. Pause. Tap tap tap.

She smiled. A broad, wide grin that wasn't the emblem of unsuitable happiness in the face of such uncertainty, but something of justice. Something of a job well done. Something was going to work. Morse code. She and Lucy had perfected it as kids, their coded conversations through the paper wall between their bedrooms often spreading their conversations well into the night. The darkness had eaten them again. She held out a finger that was encircled with a ring and held it against the metal bar.

Tap tap tap.

They would work it out.

***

'We should tell him.'

'Why? It's got nothing to do with him…'

'It has everything to do with him. We don't know what we're facing here. It could be a couple of evil wannabes or the genuine article himself. I think Dumbledore has a right to know if we're going to jump into the abyss, don't you?'

Sirius growled at his friend, a little annoyed that old age seemed to have robbed him of his sense of danger. Remus was obviously tired, his face still attempting to register the unfamiliar sight that greeted him in the form of his school days chum whilst wearing his current attire. Very painful but exceedingly necessary. 

Arabella had done a wonderful job, and the persona was working a treat. Sirius scratched at his snowy white beard thoughtfully as the wrinkles around his eyes became even more so with the remnants of a marauder's grin. He looked at Remus with a sparkle in his eyes. It was the only way you could tell it was Sirius. Sirius in forty year's time, in an aged body wrought with aches and pains that seemed unfairly bestowed upon the wisest souls among us. That was the perfect disguise in the hustle and bustle of Diagon alley. 

It was only a pit stop. Arabella said she hadn't been prepared for a full scale reconnaissance, and needed to pick up some stock from the various outlets that packed out the street on that warm summer's day. They'd left Harry, Ron and Hermione back in the Leaky Caldron, and surprisingly to Remus they had all readily agreed, and straight away requested a private room to disguise their presence among the witches and wizards up from the country for a day of magical shopping. They didn't want to be seen. They didn't want to put anyone else in as much danger as they had already put themselves in. Like the age that seemed to hold Sirius in a pincer, it just didn't seem fair. But as soon as Sirius reached he pub in London, he'd asked Arabella to do him this one last favour to allow him to wander freely.

'I still don't like this, Sirius…' muttered Remus as they emerged from Flourish and Blotts. 'I don't like this at all. Anyone could be along here, and you're perfectly content to walk around in broad daylight…'

Sirius sighed with a hint of annoyance. He looked at Remus with some degree of clarity. 'What is the point of being free if I had to spend it hiding from the world? ' he spat a little bitterly. 'You tell me that, Moony. Did I spent twelve years gazing at four stone walls just to emerge and hide form the sun itself? It's not going to burn, not just this once. And it's Granddad to you, OK?'

Remus grinned back. How could he argue with that? He knew exactly how Sirius felt. To be trapped and unable to emerge as yourself into the world was a common feeling he held in his heart. Every full moon in fact. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up at a steady attention at the mere idea of what the milky shadow could do to him. He sighed wearily in reply.

'I wonder where Arabella's got to?' he mused, kicking a stone along the street like a little lost school boy, hands deep in the pockets of his tattered robes. 'I thought she only needed a few bits and pieces…'

Sirius raised a grey and wispy eyebrow, eyeing his companion's concern with a dash of intrigue. 'And you're so bothered because?…'

Remus frowned at him, realising what he was getting at. He swiftly changed the subject. 'I just don't want to stay down here longer than we have to. Every second here is another minute lost on Claudia, and one more Harry is in target range.'

This seemed to sober Sirius up some as his face dissolved into a mass of grey wrinkles again. It always haunted Remus the way his friends face could change as suddenly as the wind, hardened against the terrors of the world yet still able to grin in the face of absurdity. But right now he was showing his serious side, a man with a sparkle of his eye that could go from mischief to vengeance quicker than a house elf would serve you tea and biscuits. The sparkle became almost malicious, chilling Remus a little as he stared into his friend's wrinkled face. This wasn't the Sirius he went to school with. But he knew that the little boy with the never-ending bag of adventures was still occasionally allowed to rule the roost.

'We'd better get back to the pub,' he said, surrendering to responsibility. 'check on the others. Arabella will be with us soon enough.' Then he paused, swallowed with a mixture of apprehension and fear, and muttered 'Then we can get Claudia out of there.'

Remus didn't even attempt to agree. Heads down, they walked (or in Sirius' case in the old man's body, shuffled) down the small and crowded alley, avoiding all eye contact as they passed the establishments that seemed untouched by age from their youth: Madam Malkin's, the Owl emporium, Gringotts and the old hag's apothecary. But they failed to notice the one pair of eyes they possibly should have been most wary of. They had both felt its gaze as children, and had like every child that passed before this individual felt a slight unease with his pale, moon-like stare, seeing into the very soul of the being and then finding its perfect match. But on this occasion, his stare just passed them by. And this individual cleared his throat, finished fluffing up the satin purple cushion, replaced the wand on it with a father's tender care and reached for his can of floo powder.

***

Lucy had been tapping in reply for what felt like days. She couldn't be sure that it was Claudia. She couldn't be sure whether she knew exactly what she was saying to the tapper, the difference between save our souls and sausages for dinner seeming so subtle in the darkness of the cells. But she had a feeling. There was some underlying tone in the taps, something that depended on their sound in a way she could never comprehend. She felt almost reckless, flouting her talent for translating the sounds into words right in front of a captor who could snap her body in half without a second thought. It was a power.

Damien hadn't come in yet. He always left her alone at night, although his departures had been growing steadily later as the time wore painfully on. Some small part of the young man seemed to despise her sight, his lip occasionally snarling in distaste at her feeble state as if it were the proper way to behave. But then she would meet his eye again and the façade would fade into the dark, and he would talk to her. This had come as something of a revelation, but she welcomed the sound nevertheless. It wasn't ever about anything in particular, as he was always careful to avoid any questions about his life outside the fort. Lucy couldn't even imagine one. But Damien was young, he must have been. His shoulders failed to give the more sturdy impression that the elders came to rely upon, their broadness portraying a strength that was supposed to scare her into submission. He would try, but along with the snarl, a little more than eye contact would melt it away like butter in the sun. He seemed young, he seemed impressionable. But something nipped at Lucy that Damien was able to make up his own mind.

She was tapping anyway. She was using the face of her watch, useless in the dark, to produce a sound slightly higher in pitch to the one she longed to hear in return. She was able to use her spare hand to muffle its ring for short or long tones, each sequence of taps making up a precious letter in their codified language of hope. Something so childish in youth being so useful in age. So far it had proved invaluable.

'What are you doing?'

She hadn't even noticed Damien enter, for now he stood and pressed his face almost against the bar she was tapping, his breath hot and likely sticky against her frozen, well-worn hand. His voice was blank, a little like his expression which she still had no idea about in its shelter of black hood. It put her more on edge that she didn't know whether he was outraged or just plain curious. He could have been both. But he wasn't going to give anything away.

But the taps did. She could hear the reply, a little frantic, tap tap tap, Claudia desperately asserting why Lucy had been cut off in mid sentence. Are you ok? What's happening down there? Are you safe? 

Damien was listening. His eyes narrowed a little, the chips of ice become like icicles in the dark, concentrating with an expression that could have been just plain interest or murder. He was listening, and muttering dangerously under his breath. Lucy instantly backed off, covering up her watch with a tattered sleeve as she looked at him with dismay, with uncertainty of his reaction. She had learnt already that he wasn't a man of many words, those that were spoken only a recent revelation and very carefully chosen and phrased. He never said anything without some form of meaning. 

'What are you doing, Lucy?' he repeated softly into the dark air.

'Nothing.' She replied shortly, nervously, not wishing to reveal any more than she already had. But he hadn't taken any notice. He was watching her with more intensity than anyone had in her life. Her scolding mother, her sister, not even her beloved Paul had greeted her with such a flash of indescribable emotion sweeping across their eyes. It unnerved her even more. Especially as he stepped forward and decisively opened the cell door.

'Get up.' He barked. 

Lucy, despite her apparent lack of energy, bounded straight onto her feet, wavering a little as they seemed so unused to the weight after days on the dungeon floor. This didn't deter Damien one little bit. He was under his own instruction.

'Come with me.'

She didn't dare to argue. She felt herself stumble as she followed the dark shape out of the cell. It felt odd to move her limbs, which in their own mind had submitted to being stationary in the cell and were beginning to rather enjoy it. They didn't appreciate sharp, sudden movement of her shifting her weight away from the isolation of the room. She followed. It occurred to her that Damien didn't even walk like a man: He remained slightly slouched, uncertain of his movements as they walked along the corridor, flanked by her chains as they chinked with every step. Damien was almost timid.

'In here.' He said, opening another large oak door that looked into the abyss of metal bars beyond. He flicked his wand and the bars evaporated. But Lucy didn't move. 'Five minutes, no more. You're not worth more than that.'

He shut the door behind him, but Lucy was certain that he was still standing in the corridor outside. She sighed heavily. The room seemed darker possibly than her own, as if there was no need for light. Was this some form of punishment? He hadn't lashed out at her for what she was doing. She wasn't even sure if he knew what she'd been up to. The purpose of the exercise seemed entirely lost in the plot. What was he up to? The answer came soon enough.

'Who's there?'

She could feel her nerves screaming with delight. 'Claudia?'

'Right here, sis. I'm all right…'

And as Lucy fumbled in the dark and brought her into a hug, she knew that somehow too.

***

A head appeared silently in the fireplace.

'Yes?'

'I've just seen them, sir. Out in the alley, Mr Black in disguise walking with the werewolf.'

'And?'

'They were going back to the inn. They were going to meet the boy.'

'Harry's with them?'

'I'm certain.'

The listener paused and appeared to be thinking hard. He hadn't expected this.

'Any idea where they were heading?'

'I'm afraid not, sir. I just thought you should be aware.'

'And on that count you would be correct. Thank you.' 

The informer's head disappeared from the fire, and the listener fell back in his chair to ponder. This gave the whole outing a very different angle indeed.

***

'So what's the plan?'

It was an innocent enough question. Harry, looking at Sirius with a mixture of pride and expectation, seemed to his Godfather still as young as the day he'd picked him from the ruins of his home. That day so long ago when he placed the babe in Hagrid's arms was the first in the rest of another life. He hoped that the next dawn would be the first of his own.

'I'm not entirely sure…' he replied, a little shamed-faced through the wispy grey beard and liver spotted cheeks. He was still heavily disguised. 'But I don't like just sitting around here. And what are you doing there, Babs?'

'Well, if you two weren't so loud maybe I'd pick up a signal!' was the angry reply. Yet again, Arabella the ex-Auror was bent over one of her many devices, fiddling with checks and balances and trying to make sense of something or other. She was looking more frustrated by the second, occasionally sniffing the air suspiciously as if she were seeking a very bad smell. Hermione, however, was letting her cat like curiosity get the better of her.

'What are you trying to do?' she quizzed the older woman.

'When we came up here, we had a bit of a job tracking you down. We were following your Veneficium trail, see. You know, your magic track?' she addressed the look of bafflement on the faces of the boys, but carried on nevertheless. 'The reason we were able to pick out where you ended up after you got yourselves thoroughly lost on the estate…' Ron, on the other side of the private parlour in the depths of the Leaky Caldron, blushed furiously at the memory of his less that adequate navigating skills. He turned away and continued to help clear up the glasses of Butterbeer with Remus. 'Was that there was another trail with you. It went from Rochester to here, and that's why I was willing to make the pit stop. It was really, rally faint. Purple - that's a rare trace of Magic to produce, you need to understand - and after listening to your little saga, I think I can guess the source.'

'Claudia.' said Harry immediately.

'Got it in one.' Arabella replied grimly. 'No one is really sure what curse Wormtail used back in 1981. Totally off the registers, probably something new You-Know-Who hadn't quite finished cooking up. May have had some transferring qualities. She can't be all muggle, that's for sure.'

'What makes you say that?' Hermione asked instantly, a frown of unsettling naivety taking up residence across her brow. Arabella beckoned her toward another instrument she had out on the bar. 

'A muggle detector.' She said simply. 'If there wasn't a trace of magic in the air back at Claudia's to start with, then it would've been making more noise than a seagull in season.'

Hermione then looked at the detector intensely, as if she expected it to burst into song at the will of her eye. Not a chance. The whistle shaped ornament stood still, its silver casing catching the sun and causing her to squint. She acknowledged defeat and sat back down.

But Harry was remembering something. He narrowed his eyes against the memory and watched the relative stranger out of the thin slits his eyelids created. She way she was fussing over the instruments on the beer table was so familiar. She was like an old lady with her pets, all groomed to perfection and as loved as a prodigal child. Strange. The woman, with her long brown hair tinged with the occasional silver glint, just seemed so out if context sitting in the Leaky Caldron with her Auror instruments, handling them like a professional. Harry was surprised the shadow of suspicion hadn't cast itself across him before. He knew Arabella. He just didn't know where from. However, she caught his gaze and questioned it.

'Something up?'

He looked away, suddenly ashamed. 'I just…' he stopped and composed himself, seeing how irrelevant his hunch was in the view of the dire situation. 'Nothing to bother about,' he said quickly and quietly. 'I just get this feeling I've met you before… '

For a reason Harry didn't understand, Sirius, Remus and Arabella suddenly exchanged a series of looks that made him feel even more uncomfortable than he already was. She cleared her throat with a sense of unease. 

'That's because you have.' She said, almost in a whisper even though there was nobody in the room to overhear the conversation. He frowned, confused for a moment, but then she removed her wand and tapped herself once on the nose.

Ron almost fell backwards out of his seat, and Harry perfectly understood his reasoning. For as Arabella lowered her wand, she was suddenly basked in an aura of golden light, which appeared to have the worst effect possible on her previously flawless figure. Wrinkles began to gather around her eyes, instantly adding twenty years to her delightful glowing face. The grey in her hair suddenly engulfed her roots, spreading across her scalp like the paintbrush of God, as she seemed to shrink a couple of inches and hunch slight over the table which the bent back she now developed. Her eyes faded a little into delicate slates of grey. She yawned.

'Mrs…' Harry gasped. 'Mrs Figg?'

She grinned toothlessly, a hint of guilt in her voice as she spoke in that familiar, raspy croak. 'The one and only. Sorry,' she immediately said as she tapped her nose again and regained her much more appealing appearance. 'I'm sorry I didn't tell you earlier. I wanted to Harry, I so wanted to. But I was following orders.'

Ron gaped even more. 'Orders?'

'Orders Ron. I'm an ex-Auror. To most of the magical world anyway. I was working for the Order. They had to keep a watchful eye on the boy who lived, didn't they?'

'The Order?…' Hermione questioned. But she was interrupted by a screech of one of the many machines that littered the table.

'Aha!' yelled Arabella in delight. 'I've got it! Fifteen clicks due northeast. Somewhere in East Anglia I'd say.'

'That's our cue,' said Sirius, standing up quickly and tapping his own nose, regaining his more appeasing form but swiftly covering it up with his dark, bulky helmet. 'We've got a damsel in distress to save!'

Arabella rolled her eyes dramatically. 'You'd think he was descended form Lancelot, the way he goes on…'

'Fourteen times great grandfather once removed actually.' He said proudly, pushing out his chest like a boastful five-year-old. The look Remus gave him however soon deflated it. He continued to mutter. 'Come on.'

Harry didn't even bother to finish his drink, just pausing long enough to flatten his hair down across his scar to avoid unwanted looks from the visitors of the pub. They strode out into the unjust sunshine of the muggle street ahead where Sirius had parked the bike. After a quickly glance, he zapped off the clamps the police so thoughtfully placed on the wheels and everybody clambered in. Sirius had been on a double yellow line, after all. He and Arabella sat on the now roaring machine and everyone else miraculously fitted into the sidecar. After all he'd heard today, Harry thought nothing else could ever possibly surprise him. He was too dazed to fully comprehend it all. He sighed and remembered with a smile. He was dealing with the marauders after all. Mischief and mayhem would never leave them alone.

***

Lucy and Claudia bathed in each other's relief for as long as each of them possibly could. Claudia wasn't sure who was comforting who, both overcome with large, inaudible sobs that were created upon their reunion. She didn't care that the room was cold. She didn't care that all her available energy was gradually seeping out of her legs and onto the frozen floor below her. She didn't care that she didn't honestly think she'd survive to smell the dawn. Lucy was safe, breathing and alive. She hadn't killed her yet. She didn't deserve all this, she was a pawn. It wasn't her battle. Claudia felt it her own.

'I'm sorry, Claudia…' Lucy was muttering between desperate breaths. 'I'm so sorry…'

'What about?' Claudia replied, one hand grasping a handful of Lucy's locks just to assure her that she really was there. 'It's my fault we're in this mess…'

'I'm sorry I never believed you…' she continued, looking sadly into Claudia's ice-like irises and getting the usual blank stare back. 'All the stuff about wizards and wands… It's all true, isn't it?' Claudia nodded without a hint of superiority, merely acknowledgement in the acceptance of the truth. Lucy merely sobbed even more. 'Why didn't I believe you? You seriously had all this going round your head? For fourteen years?' she gasped, almost as if Claudia had started telling her anew, and then hung her head in shame. 'I should have listened to you.'

'Don't be stupid!' Claudia cried in return, hugging Lucy even closer. 'It wasn't exactly a believable trail of events, was it? You were right. It did belong in a fairy tale. And I just wished it had stayed there. If it weren't for me, we wouldn't be in this mess. I'm the one to blame, Lucy. I'm the one who should be sorry. I'm wanted property.'

'How?' Lucy whispered, clearly in distress at the idea of her sister in mortal danger. So she explained. For the first time in her life, she told her sister everything. The dog in the quad, what she saw of Wormtail, the hospital visit that had been a blur but since Harry's prompt had come back in glorious colour. And how that meant she was the most important person in the world to a certain, magical fifteen year old boy. His last stab at happiness. His last hope. And Sirius'.

'There's lots of it that I don't understand…' she said, her voice now hoarse from lengthy explanation. 'But I want to. I really want to. There is a whole new world out there, and if I can do anything to prevent it falling into the hands of that, that thing….' She shuddered, finding herself afraid of uttering the name herself. 'then I'll do it. I'd do it a million times over.'

'Be thankful, Claudia,' said Lucy, quietly. She was trembling too. 'At least we're still alive to have that option. At least we have the choice.'

The blind woman sighed, blinking heavily in the dark. 'At least I haven't the ability to cry.'

Both then jumped back away from each other as the door to the room swung open. Claudia was vaguely aware of the warmth of light now sweeping over her chilly legs, the burst of life it seemed to provide her limbs being as sudden and unexpected as any electric shock. She sat stiffly, afraid. But Lucy instantly relaxed.

'It's OK…' she said soothingly, 'It's only Damien. He's…' she paused, thinking of a definition. She settled on one. 'he's a friend.'

If Damien was surprised by this statement, he showed no sign of it. Instead he stood like an impressive shadow in the doorway, his almost gangly figure being amplified many, many times in the light and seeming almost intimidating. But Lucy had seen the gaze underneath the hood. She knew there was more to it than that. And he knew it too.

'Come on,' he said abruptly, something mischievous almost underlying his false, harsh tones. Lucy staggered to her feet while Damien addressed her sister.

'Don't worry,' he said with a surprising amount of calm. 'You'll see her soon enough.' 

And with that, he took Lucy firmly by the elbow and led her to the corridor outside, the heavy, oak door slamming firmly shut, cutting Claudia off from the invisible world for good. Lucy let out another muffled sob.

She could've sworn they were walking slower than before, each step slowly measured as if Damien wanted her to be far more aware of them. He seemed a little scared himself, so she felt through the grip he had on her shackled arm. It was trembling. He wasn't any more than a little boy, given the responsibilities of a man. Entrusted with her life. He suddenly pulled her up to a stop and took out his wand, his pale slate like eyes never once leaving her face.

'Oops,' he said, tapping the shackles once with the white tipped rod and allowing then to disintegrate around her wrists. 'Didn't mean for that to happen. I'm not to be trusted with my magic yet, it seems…'

She froze, unable to pass any form of judgement on his actions. What was he playing at? He simply smiled slyly in return, scratching his chin absently with his other hand. She continued to stare as he leant in closer to her puzzled and snow-like face.

'She's in the thirteenth door on the right. Gargoyle knocker. Password's Amadaus.' 

And he made to slink back down the corridor and simply leave her to it. But Lucy had learnt in the past few hours to certainly not leave anything to chance. She wanted answers. She grabbed Damien's sleeve and tugged him back towards her.

'Why are you doing this?' she hissed quietly without a hint of anger in her voice. More like concern. 'I thought you were one of them. I thought you were my guard. Won't you get in trouble if…' 

'Who says that was my role?' he muttered, arching an eyebrow with an air of mystery that made her want to thump him. 'I might have just been doing that for kicks. Go on, get out of here.'

And he turned swiftly on his foot and disappeared into the dark depths of the opposite corridor, leaving Lucy to it. She didn't have time to take it all in. She began to breathe again.

'Thank you.' 

Then she ducked skilfully out of sight. She had her own mission to complete. And she wasn't going to let her sister down.

***

A/N: Ooh, interesting! Where will the trail lead them? And will our beloved muggles escape? And will the mayhem continue? Well, the last one is a definite yes, I can say that at least. And now I sleep J

PS: The Mr Ollivander part. Don't take it on face value folks! *wink wink*****


	9. Woodland Wanderings

A/N: Next part is here (sorry it took so long!) and things begin to get Blair Witchy. Whoo hoo! Thanks yet again to my Beta, and also my brother this time who sneaked onto my computer when I'd gone to the bathroom and done lots of little edits when I wasn't looking. But if you come anywhere near my computer again, you're toast! And so many reviews, superb! *Grins* But I'm keeping mum about Damien, thank you. He might just be himself, you know. Or even Ernie Macmillan. That would shock you all, wouldn't it? Mwahahahahaha!

Dis: I own the unknown witness and her associates. JKR owns the rest and the concept the witness was witness to. The setting for part of this was influenced by a show of that BBC rural wonder Country File. Makes my Sunday that does. But I don't think it was in Norfolk. Aw well. Poetic license, OK? Other bodies own other bits and anything you don't recognise as theirs is mine. Or something like that. On with the fic! 

****

The Unknown Witness

__

Woodland Wanderings

And so they rode. They experienced the hell of the M25, commonly known as the largest car park in the world yet somehow managed to bypass the jams in such a smooth and elegant way Harry could have sworn they were travelling on the crest of a wave. It was eerie. Yet the engine was roaring as they took the final turning, heading up the slip road towards a darkened Norfolk. Arabella had said Claudia' kidnappers wouldn't have thought to transport Claudia by magic, and assuming she was muggle they wouldn't have even bothered to cover her tracks like they did their own. Hence she needed to keep a careful watch on the monitor and keep track of the sparkling purple trail. Indeed once they escaped the fumes of central London, Arabella had taken up residence in the sidecar with Remus, Ron and Hermione, while Harry seized the chance to ride up front with his Godfather. 

There was a definite feeling of liberation in the air sitting high on the flaming metal of a 1960's Harley. Harry felt the wind whip around his shoulders as Sirius turned up the speed down the more peaceful rural road, the cool evening air passing straight over the helmet and disappearing silently into the slip stream behind. He breathed freely, and for the first time that day, smiled. Up on the bike, he felt he could do anything. He felt he could fly.

Ron had fallen asleep, his head leaning casually against Hermione's shoulder and snoring silently into her hair. He wasn't one for journeys. Hermione, showing the utmost in patience, managed to ignore it as she watched her fellow passenger with incredible interest. Arabella was sitting up ahead and still making minor adjustments to keep tack of Claudia's path, occasionally yelling instructions to Sirius to take a quick change of direction. It was an interesting sight. Remus wasn't taking much notice of anything in particular, just watching the time go by in the fits and bouts of woodland and rivers. The road was almost deserted, and all at least were thankful for that.

Suddenly Sirius screeched to a halt, putting on the breaks with such velocity that they didn't all stop moving at once, the back wheel sliding dangerously to the side as the whole machine skidded to a stand still. Harry wobbled and almost fell, only a yell and a tight grip on Sirius' collar preventing the creation of a Potter-shaped stain in the middle of the B1149. He heard Hermione gasp and Ron cry awake, his eyes suddenly the size of orbs as the momentum caused him to jolt right into the back of Hermione's head. She turned and snarled at him mockingly. He could only smirk back. 

'What'd you go and do that for?' moaned Remus, finally liberating his legs from the expanding sidecar, still a squeeze with four travelling occupants. He waved a hand in front of his face to dispel the steam that was rising from the tyres, gradually fogging the scene in its white clouded scent. 'You'd think you were trying to kill us or something…'

As everyone clambered out onto the chilly tarmac, Arabella took the wand to the bike and transfigured it into a rather large rock. Arabella's eyes were glimmering with excitement and intrigue, almost like a child in a sweet shop, full of that unmistakable wonder parents couldn't help smiling about. Except this was hardly a time to grin.

'The trail…' she said, consulting her instrument again before returning it to her backpack. 'Half a click Northeast. Through that wood.'

Harry could have sworn he heard Hermione swallow sharply, and he could clearly see her point. He followed the gaze of the group to the woods that lay beyond them, the tall Scott Pines intermitted with ancient, twisted oaks that made five steps into the trees five steps in the wrong direction. It looked dark, damp and severely in decay, the wood slightly sodden despite it being the height of summer. Harry figured it was to do with being so close to the broads, a canal covered marshland that occupied a large proportion of the county allowing its waters to seep ever inland. The wood was certainly unappealing.

'Well, I don't know what you were expecting.' Sirius said sharply, surveying the looks of dismay that were evident on the faces of the teenagers. 'This isn't going to be a picnic in the park. Keep close together and follow my lead.'

'It might not be a good idea to use our wands from now on…' said Remus, seeing Hermione pull her own into view and begin to mutter 'Lumos'. She put it away sheepishly. 'We don't know what charms and whatnot You-Know-Who's got rigged up. We don't want to take any chances.'

Ron looked paler than was humanely possible. He shoved both hands in his pockets and scrunched them into fists, trying to shake off the shiver that began in the base of his spine and tingled their way down to his enclosed fingertips. Hermione didn't look much better, squeezing Ron's shoulder in a pact of assurance but looking in need of such comfort herself. She was shaking. They were scared. They'd never really had the time to be afraid before, searching for the philosopher's stone, Slytherin's chamber, the tasks. They were never present to fight the final obstacle. Circumstances had always seen to that. But this time, with the real possibility they'd be coming face to face with the man whose name they were even afraid to utter, their fears were being brought to the fore. And as the adults moved to start the long trek into the wood, Harry voiced their apprehension.

'Look,' he said quietly, so the elders couldn't hear. 'I know you're scared. I'm scared myself. Every time I've come anywhere near that man I've barely escaped with my life. It was only six weeks ago, after all.' 

'I know…' said Hermione softly, her lip beginning to quiver. 'We know, Harry, but…'

'I don't want to put you through this.' He said, suddenly decisive. 'I don't want to be dragging your corpses back through these woods at the end of the day. If that were to happen, to any of us, I don't know if I could live with myself. I've already destroyed Claudia's life, I don't want to destroy any others. This is my battle. I understand if you want to turn around and go. I'm not going to hold it against you. Take the chance and get out of here.'

'But…' Ron began, looking rather shocked, but Harry didn't give him a chance to finish. 

'Look,' he eventually snapped as he span angrily on his heel to face them. 'It's me who's got the blood on his hands. Cedric's blood. Mr Crouch's. Frank Bryce, the muggle's. My parents.' He gulped a little but didn't waver. 'They all died because of me. Because they thought I was worth it. And if I'm going to prove to them that they died for a worthy cause, I can't let anymore join them…' He paused and took an everlasting breath. 'I'm going to help Sirius and the others to get Claudia out of there. Alone.' 

'But Harry, there's got to be another way…'

'Got any bright ideas?'

Hermione shook her head sadly. She knew when Harry wasn't going to budge, and this was one of them. She bit her lip and looked desperately at Ron, picking up the cue.

'… That you're not going to get rid of us that easily.' Finished Ron. He straightened up, shook off his fear and stared Harry straight in the eye. 'You never will. We've come this far, and we're not letting you go just yet. You're gonna need as much help as you get, even with Sirius around. We're coming with you, whether we've got your approval or not. Tough luck. Like it or lump it, we're going in together.'

Harry shook his head, a disbelieving smile edging across his face. 'Honestly,' he sighed with exasperation. 'Will I never be able to shake you lot off?'

'One for all and all for one, you know.' smirked Ron Hermione shook her head for the second time, but grinning all the way.

'You really are beginning to cramp my style, you know…'

Then they let the darkness of the wood envelope them.

***

'Anything to report?'

The daily briefings were so boring, Damien often wondered why on earth he bothered to attend. The lower ranking Death Eaters were merely attempting to impress the Dark Lord, gurgling to his every desire by bestowing the praise by the bucketful. It made his skin crawl with the obviousness of their cause. He sighed and sank back into the shadows.

'All quiet on the western front, my Lord,' one of the members said, his face obscured like the rest with the darkened hood of his uniform. Masks were not necessary while they were in the confines of the nerve centre. 'The usual night patrol found nothing to be amiss. Same with the day. They haven't found us yet, and don't look likely to…'

He didn't even see Voldemort raise his wand. The young Death Eater found himself struck to the ground with a yet unregistered curse, causing a small howl of pain to echo round the chamber and for Damien to shrink even more toward the corner.

'Do not lie to me, fool!' their collective Master hissed, watching the Death Eater limp back onto his feet. 'My spies on the outside spotted them all not five miles away. Never assume infallibility. There is certain ability in not seeing the obvious, which you are sadly lacking.'

The Death Eater mumbled the humblest apologies he could through teeth that were gritted against the pain and fell back into line. The others had learnt from his screams not to be so foolish. It was a sharp learning curve in the Dark Lord's circle. 

The rest of the meeting yielded little in particular. The tasks of these most junior servants were boring and mundane, ranging from basic patrols to outside observations, no front line activities or even curse rehearsals. Damien had his quill and parchment resting on his lap, pretending to take notes like the good little Death Eater he was, but at the instant the Dark Lord's gleaming red eyes rested upon him, he was chewing the end of his eagle feather in a dream-like daze. But the cold, high voice soon snapped him out of that.

'And you, boy…' he snarled as nicely as he could, still finding contempt for someone so youthful being present in the ranks. 'How are you finding your time here? Informative, I trust?'

'Yes, my Lord.' He said promptly in reply. He stood up at once and bowed in front of his master. 'It has been a most fascinating experience. I hope it has pleased you that I have taken such an enthralling interest in your work…' and so on, and so on. 

The words were certainly coming out of Damien's mouth, but it wasn't Damien who was saying them. Damien wasn't there. He had drawn down the shutters and allowed his eyes to become unfocused, blurred even as he spoke the words he knew the master wanted to hear, just like the other sycophants that sat around the conference table. For a moment, at least in appearance, he was one of them. But inside, like a number of other people that proved vital to the cause, he was screaming too. He didn't like this. He didn't want to be part of it. It just wasn't him. But what he was without it was still a debatable point. 

'… I am looking most forward to seeing the work of the upper ranks, my Lord, but only if your Lordship so desires it.'

Voldemort didn't smile at this comment. Damien wondered for a moment whether he had the ability to show any emotion at all, the idea of that chalk white face cracking into a grin seeming as alien as Dumbledore coming to the dark side. But the Dark Lord effectively showed his satisfaction with a glint in his blood red irises, the flash across their surface making them rave with unsettled sanity. It made Damien shiver.

'When the time comes, young servant, your place will be reserved.' Voldemort stood back, and looked at Damien sternly. 'For now, stay with this watch. We have more pressing things to deal with and cannot afford distractions…' He waved his hand absently and addressed the group again. 'Back to your stations. You will be summoned if needed. Dismissed.'

The young Death Eaters shuffled out, Damien at their rear as they disappeared down their relevant section of corridor. He sighed again, and headed back towards his quarters. He'd had enough for today. And he had the feeling that it wasn't going to be a very restful night.

***

They walked in single file, Sirius at the head with Remus and Arabella very close behind. Harry led the second pack, Ron and Hermione hanging back slightly as if they were scared of Harry himself, or even his intentions. The air was full of apprehension, being exhaled from their lungs like a poisonous gas that would rob them of will if retained for too long. They had to expel it. This had to be done, and better to do it all together than leave any one of them in the cold.

What little sunlight there was infiltrated the canopy above in tiny beams, but its orange glow was being muffled by the mist that had chosen that hour to harshly descend upon them. It was almost like the wood was holding them in its fist. Its silence closed around them as the grip began to tighten, cutting off all circulation of certainty as if its veins were set against their favour. They slowed. Every trunk and twisted root seemed to set a trap, a misguided track like the deadly lines of fortune that dictated a life from the palm of the hand. But the forest was to blame: It would never give them a chance. Every snap of a twig or branch caused the flow to halt into paralysis. It was almost as bad as the forbidden forest. Almost. At least in the forest there were people on their side. They could expect Hagrid to come bounding through at any moment, Fang at his heels, ready to snap at anything remotely like a threat. They could trust the Centaurs, for they've seen it in the stars. Even the spiders gave them half a chance to survive. But out here, in the middle of East Anglia, they were truly on their own.

Harry noticed a subtle change in foliage as they strode deeper into the trees. The spread of the leaves, which were beginning to reach their limits having spread right to the forest floor, now found themselves exiled to the uppermost branches. As if the floor itself was poisoned. It became muddier, water beginning to seep into his ancient trainers and soaking his socks in a most unpleasant way. At least Hermione had the sense to wear suitable footwear. Her hiking boots, the mark of a country girl, made easy work of the unfamiliar terrain as she side stepped the various twisted roots like the most elegant of professional dancers. Ron, on the other hand, was like Neville Longbottom when he got out the wrong side of bed. If there was something to trip over, it was guaranteed to make Ron stumble. Hermione had eventually given a frustrated sigh and grabbed Ron's elbow to give him a little guidance. At first he'd shrugged it off, too manly to be helped by the frizzy-haired girl, but as he almost allowed his face to end up on the mud, he'd finally accepted her aid. The scene had made Harry smile. 

Then the trees had died completely, along with their progress. Sirius had taken a step back in haste, bumping straight into Arabella who peered over his shoulder, strangely intrigued by the sight that lay in front of them 

'We're here.' She said sharply. She put the tracer away. 'The entrance his in front of us.'

'Are you serious?' Mouthed Remus, voicing the opinion of everyone in the vicinity.

'No, Moony, I think you'll find that's me…'

Remus groaned. It obviously wasn't the first time old Padfoot had pulled off that one. But Arabella nodded, looking quite solemn at the prospect. Something didn't add up. She prodded the ground ahead of her timidly, water springing up around her foot yet not crumbling away into mud as it did before. It almost sprang back up. Yet this made her even more apprehensive as she finally formulated her conclusion.

'Typical.' She spat, almost angry as she span round to address then all. 'Absolutely typical. Of all the places on the earth Voldemort could have set up his hide away, and he chooses to remain down with his fellow dirt. I really should have known…'

'Known what?' questioned Hermione frantically.

'It's a bog.' Said Sirius, allowing his firm foundation in Herbology to finally be of use. 'A floating peat bog. That's why all the trees have died. They're waterlogged. Their roots have direct access to the underground lake below and nothing else besides. Look.' He pointed at a stream of water that flowed directly into a slit in the ground. 'Its simply draining away. The last place on earth you'd expect to find his hideout.'

Harry now looked at the landscape up ahead and plainly saw the devastation having too much of a good thing caused. The trees were completely devoid of life, their branches sadly splintered at the overflow they held. He couldn't hear the birds. Instead the tall river grasses were thriving in their droves, almost waist high as they swayed menacingly in the early evening breeze. It hardly looked inviting. It looked frankly dangerous. But that had never held the marauders back before.

Sirius took a tentative step onto the island. One foot first, he paused, unsure, before relieving the other foot of his unsubstantial weight and settling all on the bog. It held, and the group's apprehension was lowered to barely measurable levels as they joined him on the bog.

Harry almost had the feeling he was floating, the way the ground seemed so unpredictable and drifting beneath his feet, like a natural raft of grasses and moss. Hermione was no longer holding up Ron, more like Ron was holding up Hermione. She looked more unsure than Harry had ever seen her, her eyes flitting from one side to the other in nervous bouts, occasionally calmed by a soothing glance from the red head. She gripped his arm tighter.

'So what exactly are we looking out for?' he said to his Godfather, who was taking a particularly keen interest in an extremely dead tree.

'How about a little sign post saying 'Death Eater lair: Trespassers will be tortured?' suggested Ron. This earned him a playful smack from the woman on his arm who was in no mood for teenaged mockery. But Harry could see his point. He was merely covering up his nerves with comedy.

'The Veneficium source seems to be coming from the bog centre,' said Arabella, who was yet again checking her most invaluable instrument. She sighed with frustration. 'But that doesn't mean anything. This thing is accurate to only within ten metres, and normally that's enough. I'll check out the middle and you lot work your way in. That should cover it otherwise we'll be here all night…'

The others agreed and set about to work, taking various positions in the outskirts of the bog and working their way to the centre, not missing a single, little spot. They scoured the ground with urgent eyes, searching for the smallest detail that could lead them to the entrance. It seemed a fruitless exercise. All Harry could see was grass and peat. Such desperation began to settle in his chest that he begun to swipe the grasses away with his bare hands, frantic almost, as he overheard the others address their own concerns out loud.

'Anything over there, Moony?' asked Sirius.

'Nothing but mud.' Came the reply, a slight moan in its tone. 'Just dirty, disgusting mud.'

Hermione stood up from her position among the grasses, Ron close behind. She peered at the scene then began to scour the ground again. 'If it's magically concealed,' she said to any one in particular. 'Couldn't we just use an anti-concealment charm? That would lift it, wouldn't it?'

'Good in theory, never in practise.' Came the reply from Arabella, just a few feet away. 'Voldemort would have thought about that. There must be some other - '

Silence.

'Some other what, Babs?'

Silence.

'Arabella, are you there?'

Silence.

'Arabella… Arabella!'

Nothing. She was gone. Remus' face instantly blanched as they surveyed the Auror-less scene, puzzlement and fear mixing into one lethal cocktail that made Harry sick to the bone. Please no, anything but…

'They've got her, Sirius.' Remus moaned painfully, looking around with a frantic glint in his eyes. 'Voldemort's got her.'

***

Just forty feet below them in the maze of tunnels and halls, Lucy was on the prowl. And she wasn't let anything as significant as a severe lack of magic get in her way.

Damien hadn't let her go that far from her destination. Merely a couple of corridors away, in fact, and that wasn't the problem, She lurked in the shadows of the hall, watching for passers by and logically planning her root to the thirteenth door on the right. She muttered the password under her breath, memorising the way Damien had uttered a word as he leant silently into the oak to open it. The theory was secure. She was just scared within an inch of her life of trying to implement it. 

More people than ever before were moving in packs of twos and threes, stalking the tunnels with their black cloaks billowing behind them in an impressively controlled breeze that wasn't even there. As if they knew exactly what she was trying to do and were blocking her path than confront her wrath themselves. She pushed herself further against the wall as a particularly vicious pair strode past her with authority. They didn't notice she was there. They held an air of excitement as if something was going to happen, something amusingly evil that it made them cackle all the way down the hall. And she didn't like that one little bit.

As soon as they were gone, the past evaporated from sight, she made her frantic dash: Frantic in her mind, at least. For her physical actions seemed cool and calculated, darting from one pillar to another in a perfectly planned route to her sister's cell. She didn't have time to think, and she certainly didn't have time to doubt herself. Twelve doors, eleven doors, ten… hide. Breathe. Start again. Nine doors, eight… she just kept moving.

Just five doors away, the torches flickered off. Then they flickered on again. In the interim, the shadows became a useful friend and she sought their shelter again to avoid the oncoming group. She only caught a snippet of their conversation while she held her breath, her spine becoming a quiver as they came too close for comfort.

'… I thought everyone was accounted for?'

'Then we've probably got intruders, sir. We'll need to send someone up right away…'

They were gone and she continued. Four doors, three, two, one. She was there. No one around. She leant against the door, muttered 'Amadaus' and the lock broke away in her hands. Magic, she thought. It still hadn't sunk in it was real.

The cell was still in the fist of darkness, its grip tightening as the lights outside flickered once more. She froze as the thunder of feet went past, like stampeding elephants from the front of danger they stumbled past the door, more frantic, and she breathed again as the threatening noise faded. 

'Claudia?'

There was no answer for a frightening minute, just the sound of her own breathing. What if she was too late? What if they'd taken her away? She didn't want to think about that. She shouldn't allow herself to think like that. For the darkness of such thoughts would only drag her down with them. But the tension was soon relieved.

'Lucy?' came the voice, a little confused. 'What are you doing back so soon? I thought Damien had taken you back to…'

'Well, you thought wrong kiddo.' She finally found her sister in the dark, tore off her shackles, and pulled her to her feet, embracing her. 'I said he was a friend, didn't I?'

'What?'

'No time for explanations.' She said roughly, looking out the door for any more inconvenient passers by. 'I say it's time to get out of here.'

'Lucy, are you crazy?' she hissed, pulling her back into the safety of the cell. If her lifeless irises couldn't blaze, they were doing their closest equivalent now. 'Those men are evil. Pure and utter evil. This isn't some good guy/bad guy fairy tale. This is real life, and if we don't do things properly, they could get very, very nasty.'

'Not while there's people like Damien in the world.' She uttered back, full of unnerving confidence, Lucy oblivious to its origin.

'You didn't see the quad.' She snapped angrily in return. 'You never heard the screams. Don't go making judgements on the only one in here with a soul. Not everyone is going to be on our side.' Lucy loosened her grip, but listened intently anyway. 'You saw those evil creatures, the Dementors, didn't you? Because of the magic, right? I could only sense them, and I knew I would never be happy again. With things like that, it's painfully apparent we're up against the elite of evil. We're up against the supernatural, and we've got to have a plan. They'll be so unpredictable, I won't be much help out there.' Her face conveyed such an air of desperation, Lucy could feel the knot developing in her throat as her sister continued. 'You've got to be my eyes, Lucy. If you haven't been before, you sure as hell going to be them now. That, sis, is the only way were going to get out of here. The only way with our lives.'

'I know, Claudia.' she said, shaking her head as her lip began to tremble. 'I know.'

They slipped out the room and the door shut with a slam. 

***

'OK, Remus, time to calm down a bit…'

This, in view of the situation, was entirely the wrong thing to say. If Hermione was so severely shaken that her co-ordination suddenly became an attribute she lacked, it was nothing compared to the emotions that were racing across the face of the werewolf. He looked positively distraught. 

'How can you say that, Sirius?' he hissed, his panic manifesting itself through gritted teeth. 'How can you say that? She's gone! I think if we have ever earned the right to panic, now is a perfect opportunity.'

'Hold on a moment…' said Hermione, walking over to the group again, frantically rubbing her knee. 'Just listen.'

They looked at her for an instant, expecting some further form of expansion. But as she held her finger to her lips, they caught her drift and began to listen intensely. It hadn't occurred to Harry how void this bog was of any life at all. The only rustle was that of the grasses in the breeze, tall and pale with a sickly glint of yellow and mould. Even the birds that were nesting on the healthier border bushes seemed to maintain the self imposed silence, as if they were simply afraid to sing. As if something, or someone, would chide them for it.

'Can you hear it?' Hermione whispered dramatically. Harry frowned. Surely there was nothing to hear? Ron was looking at Hermione as if she'd finally lost it, his face twisted into a slightly pained smile as his eyebrows rose against it, but his eyes still distant, still listening and still attentive. 

'Hear what?' said Sirius, completely confused by the look of realisation that was creeping across Hermione's features. She was fascinated, enthralled even, by whatever it was that caught her ears, as it cast her eye downward as she now frantically scanned the floor.

'Wait a second…' said Remus, his nerves that had been alight with panic now settling down to an ember. 'Some kind of squelching?' he curled his nose. 'That sounds pretty nasty…'

'No, no!' said Hermione with an air of exasperation. 'Look at the peat! The bubbles!'

She was pointing to a spot more or less in front of Harry. He stepped back a little in alarm and then watched, fascinated, as the pitch-black peat almost heaved beneath his feet, its speckled skin crying for liberation. Little bubbles were being spewed from a crack on the ground, seeping onto the surface mud making a delicate chain of self-contained gases. It was like the bog was alive, gasping deeply with every single breath and thoroughly making up for the lack of life elsewhere. The ground was moving beneath them. 

Hermione knelt down, rolled up her sleeve and held no hesitation before plunging in with her hand right up to the elbow while the others looked on, wide-eyed. Her face, if she were taken by surprise, showed no trace of finding the unexpected as she felt around in the bog, her eyes deeply focused in a form of intense thought that was normally reserved for her extra Arithmancy homework. She swiped at the underground force, nodded to herself in acknowledgement and finally removed the limb. Harry watched, mouth gaped open at the sight that now beheld him. Clean. Not an inch of mud had poisoned her skin. Instead it emerged like new and untainted by the peat, as if she'd plunged it in the ground and found it piercing out on the other side of the world. As if there was something beneath them all.

'I think we've found our entrance.' She said, standing up and dusting the mud off her knees. Harry got the sense that they were still quite sore. She winced as she straightened up. 'Arabella must have fallen through. Easy enough mistake to make. This is the last place the ministry would look for a hide out. And I don't think they'd be expecting many visitors.'

Sirius and Remus looked remarkably impressed with Hermione, and awarded her a look of consent. Ron was nodding along with them all, but his face suddenly blanched as he realised the connotations of Hermione's words. He looked at her, startled.

'So you're expecting me… I mean, you're expecting us to step over there, step on top of that peat slab, and just _fall_ through into You-Know-Who's little secret den?' 

'As Hermione said, Ron…' said Harry, stepping forward. 'They weren't really expecting visitors. Come on.'

'Wait!' said Hermione again, clearly on a roll. She took a few steps back, scoured the ground and eventually laid her eyes on a particularly decaying oak tree branch. It was like a twisted arm, painfully brittle as the bark flaked off in her hands as she felt every knot still in its possession. She removed her wand, muttered a simple transfiguration and the branch snaked effortlessly into a rope, the markings on the bark blending into the fibres of the coil as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Considering Hermione believed it impossible just a mere five years ago, her ease with magic was truly remarkable. 

She coiled the rope around her bare arm, then allowed it to unravel as she cast the end over to Harry's Godfather. Without saying a word, he caught it and tied it around the trunk of a poisoned tree, the wrath from below draining it of life. More than plain old water logging. She allowed the rest of the rope to fall slack onto the floor before she grabbed the end, and prepared herself to dive into danger.

Harry turned to his two best friends to give them the look they dreaded. The questioning look. The glance that had already been in evidence that day, asking their commitment and offering them escape without consequence. They knew Harry would never hold it against them, even if they dropped the rope and ran far away as fast as they possibly could. But Harry didn't need Ron to assert the words he was clearly conveying with his eyes. They'd never leave him alone.

'Harry,' he scolded. 'If you think that for just one second we're contemplating desertion, you are more of an idiot than Snape gives you credit for.'

And with that trademark Weasley grin, Harry knew they were in it for life. 

'Let's do it then.'

***

Arabella was scared. This was a rare occurrence in itself. She used to be an Auror, the best in the business if her record of achievement was anything to go by. A number of captures, but never a kill. A record to be proud of. She'd been on the front line when they apprehended Rosier, up with the best at the capture of Travers. She'd brought in the Lestranges personally, and felt they deserved everything they got. But for now, she knew her circumstance. She was alone, outnumbered, and within the next ten minutes, most probably dead. 

She'd found an entrance all right, but she got the sense it wasn't authorised. For one thing, the corridor was deserted, and didn't look much used. The footprints she'd made upon her surprise landing were the first fresh ones for months, quickly disguised with a concealment charm before she dived into the shadows to contemplate her next move. The ceiling was dripping from the water of the bog, a stinking dampness that chilled her bones by clogging the air all around her. She didn't think she could breathe. But she had to, somehow. For everyone's sake, she couldn't let them down.

She thought herself too old for this. Too old for tricks, for games and all this second-guessing. As the sound of her breathing clamped down on her heavy ears, she became almost wishful for home. Back on Magnolia Crescent with the cabbage leaf room perfume and the soft old cardigans of her alter ego. She'd gone into retirement. She'd thrived alone in peace among the muggles, living on air in a world of her own. After 1981, she'd had no reason to return. She was Harry's watcher and it was a role she'd begun to cherish. But she'd also looked forward to life, and most importantly to being a Godmother. That was what she was missing out on. And she found herself wanting it back. The truth.

__

It's gone, you're here, and there's no use moaning about it. Her sensible side was speaking with clarity. _Best to stay put and assess the situation. Remember the training. Act now, and you'll be thinking in your grave. You've got to be quick in this game, or you'll end up quick dead. That's what made you good. Thought at the speed of light. Let's just hope the old girl's still up to it._

Rumblings above. She didn't like the sound of that. A few clumps of soil descended from the ceiling, filling the air with a stream of fine dust that made her choke and caused her throat to swell. It wasn't going to hold for much longer and that idea didn't hold much appeal. Now she had to move. Slowly, slowly, she edged along the wall, not daring to increase her speed until she felt a notch in the wall, just a couple of feet deep, providing perfect shelter form whatever was about to come in. She felt her way in and settled in the corner, just as the crumbling produced its first victim.

The person fell, and landed on their feet with the agility of a feral cat, a long thread arcing out behind them as they secured it with their wand to the ceiling of the hall. Then they stepped back and waited. A larger figure was next, a little more heavy footed as they stumbled out of sight, eyes wide open and glaring through the dark as if it were more of a comfort to them. And then as the final group descended, crawling through the gap and quickly disappearing from sight, Arabella finally received her assurance. The last figure hung a little, holding onto the hole with one desperate grip before finally accepting gravity's fate. But there was no mistaking the shadow. There was no mistaking the scent.

'So are you the rescue party or what?' she said, stepping out of the shadow to greet Remus and the others. Remus, who had just stood up and was in the process of dusting the grime off his clothes, could only smile back. The tension was eased immediately.

'Right then, people,' said Sirius, stepping up to the fore. 'Let's find the unknown witness.'

***

Two floors below, in the stone walls of the solid compound, the Death eaters were on manoeuvres. They say manoeuvres, but Voldemort's minions were hardly a militant organisation. They obeyed because they feared. There was nothing else to it but the fear.

Right now, these two individuals had the most tedious task available: Checking on the prisoners. They weren't exactly dangerous people, most of them just severely subdued by the presence of the Dementors or one too many curses. From what these two could observe, they merely sat and shivered in the darkness of their cells, praying in vain for a rescue that would never come. For them, it was almost amusing, watching the desperation seep out of their souls until they were left in a shell without the hope. So in conclusion, the idea of the prisoners as a threat that needed to be guarded day and night was unthinkable. Especially a pair of useless muggles.

'Pointless…' one was uttering in the softest of whispers. 'Utterly, utterly pointless.' 

The other just hummed in agreement, as if not wanting to distinguish his viewpoint on the fear of being heard. They continued along the corridor for a while, cloaks marking the way behind them in a much more intimidating style that they could ever portray without them. In a way they sufficiently mirrored the image of their surroundings. The cold stone walls than enclosed their private hide away held within them many secrets. But how many of them that were worth knowing, neither man could say. Many doors with nothing behind them, passages with darkened dead ends. It was overly complicated, but that in design was its purpose: To confuse and disorientate so no one could get out. Unless they knew the way. 

They reached the prison complex. It was merely made up of enchanted rooms; hidden deep away so escape without detection was improbable. No one could confess all its knowledge, for there was no such person alive. Instead these men attempted to rely on memory, which wasn't the most tactical path to tread considering they were responsible for bringing Crabbe and Goyle into the world. They were as much bumbling fools as their sons.

'Can you remember what door it is?' said Crabbe Senior, his arms dangling oaf-like at his sides as his partner shrugged in confusion. 'Typical.' He grunted. 'I'm sure I left a marker somewhere…'

'Wasn't it about fifteenth door on the right?' 

'Nah, that's got to be too far up. How about eleventh?'

'Your guess is as good as mine, mate.' 

They ambled their way up the corridor and produced their wands, ready to curse in the face of non-co-operation. Goyle Senior felt himself blush at his own stupidly. Hadn't the master been expecting more from them this time round? Those were his exact words, if he correctly recalled. He wanted to make him proud. He wanted to obey. What else was there to do in life but to serve the greatest of evil? He smiled slyly to himself as he finally recalled the room.

'Not eleventh' he said toothlessly. 'Thirteenth.' 

Crabbe Senior looked at him as if he'd suddenly been admitted to Cambridge. He merely shrugged, as if to say he was intending to go up in the world and remembering the room number was just the first step on the ladder. Of course he could have been conveying something different, for the gormless look remained. Crabbe Senior at least remembered the password and opened the door with a grunt.

'Oh.' He said, surveying the contents of the cell. 'Oh dear…'

'I think, Crabbe…' said his fellow death eater as the torches flickered on and off for the umpteenth time that evening. 'That we're in a lot of trouble.'

And with that, Claudia's shackles finally crumbled to dust. 

***

The moon chose that moment to make its common appearance. Merely a crescent, it rose beyond the bog before the sun had even set, hanging like a ghost of what was to come in the early evening sky. Considering the chaos that was bound to erupt before its sombre surface, the stillness of the wood was remarkable. It was almost at peace with itself, accepting the inevitable. The birds had flown away.

All too soon, however, the peace was sadly broken. The rumble of an engine, making its way clumsily up the muddy track, echoed loudly round the glen as it left in its wake long, deep tyre tracks that almost scarred the earth. But it would be gone with the rain, at least according to the weather forecast. A thunderstorm was brewing, its clouds upon the horizon engulfing the fading sun, its first victim in the game of playing god. It stole away the dusk. 

The van made its stop as the first spots of rain began to fall. Heavy drops of rain quickly misted up the windscreen as the driver emerged and went to open the back. First however he paused, surveying the dead trees on the bog in front of him with a mixture of awe and outright disgust. His pale eyes flashed with outrage. It was as if so much death and destruction just sickened him

'Sycamore.' He said.

He began to heave out his cargo. He rummaged through the varying nick-nacks, whistling as he did, and finally found the desired object. A tyre. For a minute any observer would have thought he was merely repairing a puncture. Indeed the variety of other instruments he dragged out along with it seemed very mechanical in their tones. A spanner here, a bolt head there, the occasional ill-fitting screw. But all he did was tap it a few times at what looked like regular intervals, and heave it onto the bog. It fell with an almighty thud, the wet mud slapping loudly against the rubber. The squelch it made was amazing.

He chuckled. A strange sound, alone in the night, with soft splashes of water echoing all around him. He didn't seem to notice as he almost skipped off the floating bog and hopped back in the van and began to drive away. In the haste of his retreat, the pretty little logo depicting 'Guy Fawkes Fireworks: Fine users of Gunpowder since 1882' was quickly engulfed in the mud. But one thing was for certain: There was going to be a spark or two tonight.

***

A/N: Slight cliffee, but you know what that means… there's still some more to come, and a million queries to solve! I'm sure you have your own little theories, but just hold your horses until the truth finally emerges. You never know… you might be pleasantly surprised! Read and tell me how pants it is please. And while I'm here, support Comic Relief and say PANTS! to poverty. You know it makes sense.


	10. The Insider's Instinct

A/N: Another part? I really don't have a life! I'll carry on nevertheless, because there's at least fifteen of you who are waiting on this, so I suppose this'll have to do. Oh what a chore! Have a few solutions with some extra dramatic spice. This thing is really hotting up! Review people, please? Just a couple of words. Go on, you know you want to…

Dis: I own the unknown witness and her associates. JKR owns the rest and the concept the witness was witness to. Other bodies own other bits yadda yadda yadda. Shut up athena and get on with the fic. Right. 

****

The Unknown Witness

__

The Insider's Instinct

Lucy and Claudia were running. Lucy had a firm grip around her sister's wrist, leading her frantically through one passageway after another, each one as dark to her as the cell had been to Claudia. The only way was up. The logical one anyway.

Lucy hadn't seen a window for her entire stay in the lair. She couldn't image the place with a view, a real location with people looking in as well as out upon the world. She just couldn't see it in her mind. She would suppose later that it was because the whole thing seemed so unreal, so completely alien to her being that her imagination just rejected it. It just seemed so utterly dark that there was no possibility of the building being basked in the glorious light of day, the pureness of the sunbeams would seem wasted on this establishment. It didn't deserve the light. Even the flaming torches that guided the way were flickering, struggling to survive against the dark and dying to be extinguished. All she could concentrate on was what was in front of her, and right now it was their escape. She just didn't know exactly how. 

'In here!' she hissed quietly to the stooping figure behind her, pulling Claudia's wrist sharply as they dove into a side room to avoid a group of oncoming Death Eaters. They passed them without a second glance as the door closed to seal them in. They could breathe for a minute.

'This is madness!' Lucy heaved, letting her shoulders sag a little as the tension of being on the prowl eased temporarily. But it could be irradiated from her voice. 'Pure and utter madness. We could be stuck here for days before we find our way out of this place! It's worse than the London underground…'

Her breathing then became slightly erratic, panicky even as she paced the room, her footsteps doing little for the nerves of her sister. Claudia grasped her head with a similar level of distress, her hands clutching desperately at her hair, feeling knotted and dull after days spent in the dark. She sighed again herself.

'I think we need to stop for a minute and really think this through.' She said, regaining an alarming amount of clarity with the pause. 'We can't just dive in headfirst because we don't know what we're up against. From what Harry and the others told me, these aren't the type of people you want to meet down a dark alley…' 

'I think we're slightly past that.'

'I know. But that doesn't change a thing. What have we got in here with us?'

Claudia could hear Lucy begin to rummage, her hands opening cupboards, draws and closets and shutting them again in vain. She could feel her energy seeping out with every unsuccessful opening. 'Nothing Claudia.' Lucy was saying. 'Nothing really at all. A few torture bits, some keys… some parchment…. Wait a minute… '

Claudia could barely utter a reply before she felt something come over her. Material, thick and heavy, seemed to float then descend upon her face, closing her in its darkened depths as she struggled to pull them off. Nut still she managed to smile, and keep her reaction and a small and muffled humph.

'Put it on.' Said Lucy as she pulled the robes of her own down over her dirt-ridden jeans. She pulled gingerly at the material until it fell right into place. They even felt heavier on than they did when she held them. The material cascaded right down to her dainty feet, covering the tips of her shoes so she almost floated as she strode across the room. She almost liked the feeling: Powerful, superior. She supposed that was the purpose. She suppressed a tiny shudder then helped her sister with here own. She pulled the hood up over her head and for her sister did the same. Then she gasped.

'What?'

But Lucy couldn't reply, for the transformation was horrifically outstanding. Claudia was holding the sleeves of the robes together like a muff, her hands becoming invisible in the mass of midnight black. But it was what it did to her face that scared Lucy. The hood hung low across it, obscuring all her features in the darkness of its shade making her lack of face as intimidating as she'd first found Damien and the other Death Eaters. But somehow Claudia's colourless eyes managed to protrude the dark. It was as if they almost belonged with the magic. They were set in the darkness of her face like two sparkling pure white opals, shining brightly but unable to convey anything at all. It was like a stare of death. 

'Lucy, what's the matter?'

She managed to shake herself right. 'Nothing, it's nothing. Come on - at least we're a bit less conspicuous now.'

So they stepped back out into the hallway and proceeded to stride along. Lucy was holding herself much steadier now, as if the disguise of one of them awarded her the confidence and comforts it gave to the Death Eaters along with it. Nobody battered an eyelid, least of all her sister. They just held their breath and walked.

The corridor seemed continuos, and showed no sign of letting them ascend. But still they walked, for there was nothing left to do. The flames flickered from here to there, muffled shouts echoing through the stone and mud-filled walls not straying them from their path but simply blotted out their minds, for they had to focus on the path at hand. Escape was the only option. And with every step the fear increased, until it became unbearable. Until they were confronted.

'Oi! You two! What do you think you're doing?'

Lucy froze at the voice as her grip round Claudia's wrist tightened. They didn't dare turn at the sound of the on-coming footsteps, and Lucy for one wouldn't have been able to find the energy to do so anyway. It was as if she were frozen to the spot, her limbs imbedded in a glacier to forever be a piece of petrified art. Her breath came out as a shudder as the voice addressed them again.

'Didn't you get the orders? We've got a situation here, and…'

'Its OK, they were looking for me.' 

She finally breathed as they both turned round to face the scene. Another dark figure was stalking down the hall toward them, slightly smaller than the man who blocked their path behind. The other figure walked toward them hurriedly, urgently even, prepared to defuse the situation with a few well-chosen works. The figure produced his wand

'Head back downstairs, Avery.' Damien was saying, stepping into the glowing light of the nearest torch. His profile was illuminated. 'These two are on supervision orders. Keep me out of trouble. You know how angry the Dark Lord would be to learn they disobeyed him? Not to mention…'

'All right, young sir.' Replied the man he called Avery, who by the tilt on his head was observing him with suspicion, but wasn't foolish enough to question. 'Everything seems to be in order here. I'll head back down. Just keep him out of everything, won't you?' he now settled his gaze on the shaded figures of Lucy and Claudia.

'We will do as the Dark Lord desires and nothing else.' Said Claudia very suddenly, almost stiffly as she bowed her head toward him as he scuttled away down the corridor. Lucy bowed herself, but straightened to look closely at Claudia with a slight mood of apprehension. She was very strangely subdued. Lucy turned her attention to their rescuer.

'Damien!' she said in a stage whisper. 'What are you playing at? You're going to get yourself killed if you pull anything like that again!' 

Damien glanced at her quizzically, silent with consideration. Lucy could feel her heart beating wildly, but if Damien knew he ignored it. 'Nothing to be concerned of, Lucy. Despite my age I do hold a certain amount of importance in this very nasty equation. I'm not just the Saturday boy, you know.'

'So what are we planning to do now?' Lucy replied, ignoring in return his attempt at futile humour.

'Oh, so it's _we_ now, is it?' he said slyly. He sighed wearily, almost bored, but continued nevertheless. 'Well, I think the question is, what are we _trying_ to do?'

Lucy was about to speak the obvious, when Claudia interrupted her.

'Help Sirius.' She said quietly, timidly even, as if her true desire was too shameful to admit. She even hung her head as the words escaped her lips. But she was only admitting the truth.

'Well then,' said Damien, apparently enjoying his superior position. 'I think_ our _best move is to stay put. By any means,' he stopped, as a few muffled cries from above effectively pushed his point. He raised his eyes skyward in retaliation of the sound. 'Sounds like your rescue party are already here.' 

***

'Shush!'

Hermione scolded Ron ferociously as he attempted to muffle his dusty cough that had made her jump so loudly that her high pitched squeal echoed uncomfortably down the passage, bouncing off the ever emerging stone as they continued to delve further into the depths of the lair. A few pebbles tricked down the slope as a result. Ron shot her in return a look of pure annoyance, but both were silenced themselves by an ever-vigilant Remus, who signalled a quick shift in direction to avoid a hurried Death Eater who descended the stairs ahead of them. Harry realised it was times like these he could appreciate the true value of the invisibility cloak. 

Sirius, heading the pack in their silent transit, directed them toward the descent. There was a strange glint in his eye, vengeful even as he lead them to the stairs, his back pushed right up against the wall in the dark but still alert and fully attentive. Harry pondered for a minute as he observed this formidable figure how little he really knew about his Godfather. He'd been a legendary prankster, a carefree student, always ready to blow up the dungeons and not give a damn about the detentions that followed. Yet he'd fought the Dark right alongside Dumbledore, had contacts within the Aurors, and was trusted enough and responsible enough to be chosen as the original secret keeper. He was a walking paradox, a vault of tremendous talent, able to become Animagus while still in his youthful teens while his peers still had trouble with basic summoning charms. All this Harry knew for fact. But he didn't know what actually lay behind it all. What created the joker and allowed the possibility of his betrayal to be so believable. Right now he was a fighter. But Harry had a feeling there was much more to be discovered.

They crept down the stairs in single file, Harry's hand clasped around the wand that sat in his pocket as if his life depended on it. He observed a dull ache developing in his forehead; an almost tingling feeling creeping across his scar, but considering the circumstance he wasn't surprised by its presence. He didn't expect anything less, but merely prayed it wouldn't be too much of a hindrance on his concentration. If he ever needed all his wits about him, now was certainly the time. Voldemort was near, and there was nothing he could do about it.

'This way…' Sirius mouthed silently when they reached the bottom of the stairs. They stalked off down yet another endless corridor that Sirius seemed strangely comfortable with. His eyes were almost greeting the familiar, flicking with memories as he counted doors before him and carefully planned their route. Only Hermione was brave enough to question his peculiar behaviour.

'Sirius…' she whispered as she crept up close behind him. 'How do you know where we're going?'

But Sirius didn't answer. Instead Remus took up the mantle leaving his old friend to concentrate other route. He drew in a sharp breath. 'Because this isn't exactly his first visit.'

Ron's eyes widened. 'What?'

'Voldemort's hideouts may have changed location…' said Arabella, 'But they never appear to change layouts. That was half the challenge: Voldemort was always the master of concealment, but originality was never really his thing. But we never really found out much about the layout.'

'Why?' whispered Harry.

'Because not many people came out of it alive…' muttered Sirius quietly, an obvious pain present in his face. Yet more of the Marauder to be revealed. He looked down another set of corridors and emerged to address them again. 'We're here. Come on.'

They followed in a stunned silence. This corridor seemed the bleakest yet, the torches dimmed further than Harry thought was possible as if plunged the hall into near darkness. He supposed if this was where they kept the prisoners, the need to see was unnecessary. Sirius wasn't fazed by the abruptness of the dark at all. Instead he strode down the passage with astounding confidence, almost as if he knew the system well and thrived upon breaking its restrictions. He'd done it before, after all. 

He stopped outside an oak door with an ugly gargoyle knocker. 'The highest security cell.' He said without prompt. He began feeling around the edges of the door. 'I'd recognise it anywhere. That gargoyle has a vicious temper, so don't ever try to cross it…'

At this comment, the stone face of the creature growled in agreement, its eyes narrowing wildly as its pointed teeth protruded over its lower lip. Harry was sure it hissed. Hermione took a step back in alarm but bumped back into the figure of Remus, who took her shoulders reassuringly and suppressed her shudder to a minimum. But then Sirius let out a little gasp of his own as the gargoyle spat even more ferociously.

'What is it?' said Arabella with an air of urgency, steeping up to the front. 'What's the matter, Sirius?'

Wordlessly, He pushed against the door as it fell back into the cell, unlocked and swinging free on its ancient hinges, squeaking every inch of the way. Sirius stood back, wide-eyed, as Harry held no hesitation in pushing his way to the front and stepping into the darkness of the prison. He was vaguely aware of the others furiously debating whether they'd keep a muggle in an enchanted cell like this as they all entered behind him to look, when Harry helped provide them an answer.

'Claudia's jacket.' He said without emotion, retrieving it from the floor of the room and throwing it at Sirius, who caught it with a gasp. 'She was wearing this when we first called round. Everywhere in the house was so cold. She was shaking like a leaf…'

'Quiet!' Arabella suddenly hissed, eyeing the small crack of light that protruded from the doorframe as if it were the devil itself. Footsteps, voices… Harry now felt a hand being placed on his head as he was pushed violently to the floor. He kept low to the ground, slipping silently to the darkest corner of the room, already finding Ron and Hermione taking the cue, both staring at him with their eyes plastered open with fear. He openly returned the stare as the footsteps grew closer, all of them producing their wands as the marauders formed a protective wall around the next generation. Harry didn't even see the face of the intruders. But sickeningly, he recognised the voice.

'Well, well, well…' said Lucius Malfoy, his own wand aloft and with a sneer on his face. 'What do we have here?'

***

The man sat back in his chair and sighed with more apprehension than he'd felt for a long, long time. Fourteen years in fact. He hadn't felt his heart pang in that way since that fateful Halloween, hadn't held his breath in the same way as he waited for the inevitable outcome of that night. He leant forward on his desk, holing his forehead with a finger and a thumb, letting out a deeper sigh than before. But for some reason he was yet to find adequate explanation for, he felt that everything wasn't quite lost. Something deep inside his soul was saying the outcome wouldn't be all bad. And that was a feeling he trusted. 

'Sir?'

The head appeared in the fire again. He waved his hand silently to indicate for the speaker to continue. The head looked downcast. 'I followed them, sir, and I believe they went straight in. I took the standard precautions. I think that's all we can do.'

'Indeed,' the man nodded in agreement. 'We can't do anything but let nature run its course. However, I have my full trust that they will be successful.'

'I have to admire your faith, sir.'

'Alas, these days it is all we truly have.' He muttered to himself, humming a little absently. He then shook himself professionally and turned his attention sternly back to the fire, his eyes blazing like the flames. 'Do your best from where you are.' He said. 'Don't do anything that may jeopardise their position, just keep a close observation on the situation. These are the most capable group of individuals I have come across since the dark days. I do not doubt their abilities. The faith is a treasured quality to have my friend. It'll take you very far indeed.'

'Yes sir.'

***

'Malfoy…' Arabella hissed, stepping forward with her wand arm raised. Lucius didn't even bother with disarming. Instead he allowed his own wand to omit a streak of deadly blue light that struck Arabella across the wrist, sending her wand cascading to the ground and rolling away into the dark. Arabella stumbled, her eyes screwed up against the pain as she held her wrist tightly with the other hand, now looking at the father of Draco with more disgust than Harry thought humanely possible. She was positively seething with hate. 

'You never were one to play fair, were you, Lucius?' she spat, her eyes now forming menacing narrow slits. 'More content on playing the fool…'

'Brave words, Miss Figg. Very, very brave. I suppose you weren't a Gryffindor for nothing.' He stepped into the room and was closely followed by his minions, all heavily shielded from their eyes by the heavy folds of their hoods. But Lucius didn't even bother. He seemed even more loathsome than the last time Harry had seen him, now twirling his wand lazily between his fingers, his face twisted into something that resembled amusement mixed with disgust as he stepped into the dimmed light with his hood firmly cast down. He wasn't scared to show his status. He thought he was powerful, and thought everyone else needed to be aware of it. He raised his wand again.

'No!' cried Remus, stepping forward before his sensibilities could prevent him. If Lucius could sneer with further delight, that was exactly what he was doing.

'Oh my, Mr Lupin.' He said with menacing amusement, indicating to one of the death eaters to cover old Moony with a wand. Remus' expression didn't change a bit. 'Things do appear to get better. I do hope it's not your time of the month, for that would be most inconvenient. For you, I mean…' he added with a small laugh to himself. 'I could think of many ways such a transformation could play to our advantage.'

Remus growled, but a shuffle from the darkest corner of the cell diverted Lucius' attention. He turned on the ball of his foot and held his wand out rigid, eyes glaring into the black.

'Step out of the shadows, Phoenix,' he spat, the hatred apparent in his voice. 'For you have every reason to fear. You might as well face the inevitable.'

'As should you, Lucius, as should you.' 

As the last brick of their physical wall collapsed, Harry felt Ron move his arm and push both him and Hermione protectively back into the wall, as if he wanted them all to suddenly sink right into it. Ron and Hermione were both looking at Harry, wide-eyed. They were shaking, but all three were managing to stay safely out of sight.

'Sirius Black…' said Lucius with a sly smile as Padfoot stepped into view. 'What an honour. Azkaban's most notorious bestows us with his presence? I could expect anything more. Apart from Harry Potter, of course…'

But the exchange of glances between the older members of the group had really said it all. Lucius picked up the cue and began sniffing the air suspiciously, walking slowly around the cell while his minions blocked the door, wands out. They were truly outnumbered and lacking in viable alternatives.

'Time to make you and your little friends known, Potter.' Lucius was drawling out with a degree of unpleasant satisfaction. 'If you don't do it now, then the Dark Lord will…'

Harry went to move, but Hermione's hand grabbed his shoulder and forced him back to the wall. He was greeted by two pairs of eyes looking at him as if he were mad. Ron was shaking his head madly.

'He's not here, Lucius,' said Arabella, still holding her wrist against the dull ache that resided there. 'It's only a three for one deal tonight…'

But then Harry finally broke free of Hermione's restraints and stepped out from behind his father's friends, bathed in the fading glow of the torches outside. He must have looked quite menacing despite his lack of height, as a number of the Death Eaters backed away, almost frightened at the sight of the Dark Lord's conqueror with his ever present scar. But Lucius wasn't so perplexed. Instead he pushed his lips together in an expression of disapproval: It was plain to see from where Draco got his infamous scowl. His grey slate-like eyes narrowed further still.

'You are certainly creative with the truth, Miss Figg.' He said, his eyes never leaving Harry as Ron and Hermione finally scrambled to their feet, flagging him in their automatic ensemble. It wouldn't be Harry alone if they had anything to do with it. Harry could have sworn he saw a flicker of a smile from Sirius, as if history was repeating itself. But it was gone in an instant and the deadly formality returned.

'And yet more! I say, do you have the entire Gryffindor population hidden in that corner?' Lucius questioned, peering at the sextet. He waved his hand behind him and a couple of Death Eaters moved off in response, most probably to alert Lord Voldemort. 'Our luck appears to be in tonight, my friends. Our master will rejoice, while tomorrow we will enjoy some wonderful executions, no doubt. We shall contain them here and consult him…'

The Death Eater next to him had raised his wand, ready to disarm them all. He'd even uttered the first syllable, but Lucius put out a hand to halt him there.

'No need for that, my friend.' He said in a sickening fashion, unable to keep the malice from his voice. 'Much more entertaining for them to attempt the impossible. I dare say that one of you fools have heard of the irrevocabillis charm? Hmm?'

Arabella looked at him blankly, choosing not to answer instead of so much not knowing. Hermione decided to voice it. 'The irreversible effect. Allows magic to flow one way, but not the other.'

'Indeed.' Said Lucius, Hermione finally being drawn to his attention. 'You're that filthy little mudblood my son has told me about, aren't you?' He snarled. Hermione didn't respond, but Ron shot daggers at him. 'I really should have known. The Potters always like to associate with the lowest of our kind. Isn't that right, boy? Oh well.' After looking meaningfully at Harry, causing the blood to pound in his ears, he turned to face Hermione again, the expression of disapproval unmistakable. 'Knowledge is dangerous, little girl. Lethal in your case. You're not worth the paper you're written on. Nevertheless, you are correct. This door grants a person entrance, but never bids them leave. You can stand on this side of the door and yell the password as much as you like, but you will not get a response. Your charm will fall on deaf ears. Only the door outside is receptive to the incantation. The charm cannot be overridden. The technique they use on the cells in Azkaban I do believe? Of course only one individual in this room would be able to answer that one…' 

At this point, Sirius snapped. He lurched for Lucius, taking him by surprise and sweeping up to grasp his throat, pushing him back into the wall. Harry had only seen that look on his Godfather's face once before, back in the darkness of the Shrieking shack. A look of vengeful hunger only satisfied with the rat. Hatred in its purest form. Sirius was breathing hard through gritted teeth. But Lucius didn't even bother to struggle. He even seemed amused.

'What are going to do to me, Black?' he quizzed, his breathing a little raspy as he held his own wand tightly in his fist, the Death Eaters pulling out their own. He smiled. 'Are you going to fight me? Bare fisted, au naturale?' 

Sirius simply growled in return, knowing full well that this was a battle he couldn't win, being so hopelessly outnumbered. He released his grip and Lucius slid a little down the wall before regaining his balance, then pocketed his wand. Sirius stepped away as Lucius straightened his wand and pulled back up his hood, concealing his sharp features as he spoke.

'I suppose we must bid you goodnight.' He said with the utmost politeness, his tone of voice considering the situation enough to make Harry's skin crawl. 'Or even bid you adieu. It is doubtful you will see the dawn. The Master will be waiting.'

And then he and his minions departed, the large oak door closing with a deafening slam while silence engulfed the group. Their number seemed truly up. 

***

The three of them walked along the corridor again, glancing from side to side and delving into the occasional room for any sign of Sirius and his crew whose rattles they'd heard from above. After ascending the stairs. Damien walked between the sisters, Claudia gripping the sleeve of his robes for some form of guidance through the maze of halls ahead of them. Sirius was here. She could feel it. It was as if his presence in such close proximity of herself made the air electric, the possibilities brought with their meeting making the air creep up and down her spine with some form of magical mystery. This man had dominated her life for the past fourteen years. He had at times dictated it. They had both been robbed of birthrights. And together they would get them back.

'This is too easy…' Lucy was muttering from behind her own black hood. She seemed more comfortable in the disguise it awarded, the ability to blend into the darkened stone and not even raise an eyebrow by any unexpected behaviour a reassuring possibility. 'This is just too damn straightforward, wandering around here as if we're a piece of the furniture. It just doesn't feel right, Damien…'

'Do you think it feels right to me?' he snapped, his voice still quiet but the sharpness of its blade effectively piercing the night. He stopped abruptly as he leaned round them to inspect the next passage. He even sneered a little at Lucy's outburst, almost like a spoilt teenage brat. But the situation had already proved that Damien was far from that. He continued. 'Do you think I feel particularly comfortable playing the double agent and trying to save all your necks? I don't do this sort of thing by choice you know.'

'What do you do it for?'

'Necessity.' He replied shortly. 'If I don't, then no one else will.'

'Then why bother?'

The question lingered in the air like a bad smell, poisoning all three of them as Damien considered his answer, taking his time and mulling over its words in his conscious. They took a few more steps before he finally voiced his answer. He almost chuckled

'I will leave that for you to work out by yourself.' He said more quietly than before. He blinked and then looked Lucy straight in the face. 'I need to keep some secrets.'

Lucy shook her head. It would appear that Damien would always remain a mystery. Maybe it was better that way for all parties involved. They moved on.

The walking continued. Claudia could hear the muffled voices again, this time coming from below. Even she with her sensitive ears had to strain to pick up the slightest trace of the speech, her face paling a little as she failed to pick out the words that from their tones were not the most friendly being spoken. They weren't being shouted, but muttered in such a precise and controlled way it seemed to chill the air for miles around. It was a voice with an intent she felt she didn't want to know about. But Lucy and Damien didn't even notice. She must have imagined it. Her feet carried on regardless. 

Lucy's mind was not concentrated on a single subject matter, but was flitting from one thought to another like a song bird through the wood, unsure where to settle simply because it didn't know where to turn. So many branches, so much choice. So much still unknown. Without the darkness and the Dementors that came with it, her brain was beginning to clear. And for the first time her fear infiltrated it, stopping the song from her heart from calming her so. She was supposed to be the strong one, but she didn't know what they were dealing with. Her sister was right. For a moment in the cell, with Damien on their side, she felt she could conquer the world. Nothing could stand in their way. But now being able to walk openly beside him, Claudia tugging desperately at his sleeve, she finally acknowledged their vulnerability. And that was a feeling that would never sit comfortably on the shoulders of a fighter.

Damien then came to a sudden halt, Claudia continuing to walk a little ahead before she realised her guide had stopped. She gasped at his absence and then stepped back up against the wall, seemingly paralysed without his leading help. Lucy followed, slipping in by her sister's side as Damien stood in the middle of the hall, transfixed by some object that Lucy could not make out, if it were there at all. He wasn't taking notice of anything except his own breathing.

'Damien?' Lucy whispered timidly, reaching out a hand. 'Damien, are you all right? What's the matter?'

'Shush!' he snapped suddenly, his eyes flashing under his hood as the developed a deep sense of concentration again. Now the sisters were truly apprehensive. Claudia had recovered some of her composure and breathing quite calmly, tranquil even. It suddenly occurred to Lucy that she knew exactly what was going on.

'What is he saying?' Claudia asked Damien in a similar tone of voice to that she'd used on Avery. Lucy shivered again. Damien didn't turn to give an answer, but merely whispered it to the air that was in front of him.

'The rescue party has been apprehended.' He said officially, Lucy completely puzzled as to how this information reached him. Damien kneaded his arm, wincing a little as if the joint was aching but somehow aware of Lucy's profound bafflement, for then he addressed it. 'The Master knows. When something like this happens, he is able to send a message to us all through the dark magical channels. We are all linked to him under the dark mark…'

'The dark mark?' said Lucy, none the wiser. Then Damien rolled up the sleeve of the arm he had been tending. The skin upon the inside of his forearm was red raw, as if the image that was engrafted into his fresh was freshly done yet not quite set. The marking, a skull with a snake protruded from its mouth like a tongue, was flashing black, occasionally being highlighted as if a message was being transmitted. Damien allowed Lucy to touch it tenderly with her fingers, feel the burn and then leap back with surprise. He didn't react, just rolled down his sleeve again and continued with explanation.

'Normally they are just used for summoning purposes when his servants are out in the field, but they become a most useful communication device in times of utmost urgency. They are located in your original cell, Claudia.' he said, addressing her shadow at the wall. 'Which certainly makes our task a lot easier. But that does also mean they are perfectly aware of your absence too. Our time frame has been cut drastically, so just do everything that I say and everything will go to plan. Agreed?'

Lucy raised an eyebrow. 'Our?'

'Come on.' He said, choosing to ignore her reply. He pulled at Claudia's sleeve again and they set off toward the prison floor. If the situation hadn't been so desperate, Lucy would have sworn that Damien smiled. It was just unfortunate that he hadn't been able to listen to the rest of the discussion.

***

'So what are we to do now, my Lord?'

Voldemort removed his wand from Lucius Malfoy's arm, the tattoo beginning to fade as the message came to its natural end and sat back in his seat. They were to continue their private discussion as the Dark Lord rubbed his chin thoughtfully, his red narrow eye slits not leaving Lucius' face for an instant. Wormtail was lurking somewhere nervously near by. Voldemort could sense him dithering and it was obviously not to his pleasure.

'Will somebody please remove that fool from my presence!' he hissed angrily as a couple of large looking Death eaters gratefully took the command and Wormtail for that matter by each arm and escorted him outside. Voldemort and Lucius were now alone. 

'Lucius,' he said slowly and precisely, 'that is truly the question of the moment. Everything seems to have gone according to plan…'

'Indeed…' replied his servant sycophantically.

'But…' the Dark Lord continued, ignoring Lucius' remark. 'That doesn't mean that it will do in the future. The Phoenix does happen upon the habit of escaping from my clutches quite frequently. It is not a characteristic in their activities I thrive upon.'

'Yes, my Lord. So what do you have planned for our guests to prevent such an incident from occurring?'

At such a comment, Voldemort would often lose his patience. He would scold the speaker with a curse for demanding his intentions, send them a painful reminder they'd be wiser not to forget. No matter how many Death Eaters he had to control in such a manner, they never seemed to learn. They still had the nerve to ask. He supposed underneath all that obedience, the ones who hadn't joined in out of fear were still hankering after the power. That was the whole basis of the situation. As he had told the young Quirrell when he was barely a shadow among the trees, there is no good and evil, only power, and those too weak to seek it. And he only wanted the strong. So instead of cursing one of his most powerful followers, the Dark Lord raised an eyebrow at Lucius' demand and went ahead answering the question.

'We will duel.' He said frankly, so not demanding expansion. 'We will finish what was begun in June. The Potter boy will be killed, and hopefully so too will his friends. It will be a warning to those bumbling fools at the Ministry that the Dark Mark is back and this time will not take prisoners. Their bodies will be deposited on their doorstep in London, and as their blood begins to seep into the drains they will know we have truly arrived.'

'But my Lord…' Lucius began. 'Do you believe that will be enough? I mean with the last duel - where you fought bravely, I must inform you - matters out of our control drove to make it inconclusive...'

'Ah, Lucius,' the Dark Lord said quietly, his gleaming eyes drawing level with Lucius' sharp, glacial face. 'You think I am going to deprive my returned followers the opportunity to bask within the glory of their deaths? It will be a team effort, my friend. We will work together for a glorious victory. We will be feared together. But I alone will get the last blow. You may crush them until they cannot move for their lives, for then only I will take that force from them. It that understood?'

Lucius nodded.

'Good.' Voldemort stood up to his full, terrifying height. He breathed heavily, then continued. 'Then send a group of servants to stand outside their cell. I don't want to take any chances. They will not get away. I have waited far too long, and tonight their deaths will be ours to rejoice. Dismissed.'

***

Sirius was pacing. Harry had seen him pace just once before, in the cave high above Hogsmeade a little while after the second task. He'd been deep in thought and considering the evidence Harry was putting before him with the manner of an attorney, gnawing absently on a chicken leg whilst discussing the activities of Barty Crouch Senior. Or so they thought. He'd been speaking all the way through that, constantly questioning, seeing the layers that hadn't occurred to Harry or that youth had deprived him knowledge of. Crouch's mysterious absences from the judges panel of the tournament had just been a curious oddity, the danger being there but in the euphoria that followed Harry's successful adventure in the lake not taken as seriously as it might have. They didn't know what was coming then. But now they were painfully aware, horribly aware. There appeared to be no way out.

So Sirius was pacing with a frantic air, every step forced and slightly broken as he rubbed his unshaven face wearily with one hand as the others looked on. Harry saw his eyes were closed against the dark, his lips moving in silent murmurs as he turned sharply in the corner of the cell. They all had to cope with the certainty of the dawn in some way or other. Arabella was exploring the door with a glowing wand, searching for cracks, a way round the charm that was yet to be recorded. She was frowning at the wood and tapping it here and there while Hermione looked on, occasionally muttering her ideas and advice that Arabella took on board willingly, her own resources exhausted. Ron simply sat with his back to the wall, his head in his hands, looking so downtrodden and defeated that his silence soon attracted other attention. Hermione glanced up from her work on the door and gazed at his fallen figure for a while, before she crept right over and simply put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed it very gently. She looked him straight in the eye and Harry could see his friend begin to falter.

'Don't worry, Ron…' He vaguely heard Hermione say. 'We're going to get out of it, I just know it…'

Harry would've done anything for a slice of her confidence right now. But instead he felt like he was looking down the barrel of a gun and everything would end without all the fundamental answers. These could be his last moments and there was so much he didn't know. Sirius didn't seem in a fit state to say anything, so he approached the paling Remus.

'What are we going to do?' he asked innocently, feeling a little stupid for not having a better question at such a hideous time. If Remus thought this, he didn't show it.

'I don't know Harry.' He sighed, resting his head back against the wall. 'I honestly don't know. We can't try to break out of here, you heard Lucius. The only way to get out is if someone lets us out…'

'A bit like the Fidelius charm?' asked Harry quietly.

Remus froze for an instant and then smiled weakly at the son of his friend. 'Yes, I suppose. You only get the story with the secret keeper's consent. We'll only escape with treachery…' he sighed, drifting off in his own thought for a moment. Then he straightened up and looked Harry directly in the eye. 'But whatever we'll do, we'll fight. I know that's what your father would do. That's something that I'm sure of.'

Harry smiled weakly, then turned to look straight at Remus again. 'If -I mean, when we get out of here, you and Sirius need to tell us everything about him.' he could feel a lump forming in his throat. 'I need to know, Remus, he's my father and…'

'I understand.' Said the Werewolf. 'There's no need to explain….'

But then he was cut off by regular weighted footsteps. Thump, thump, thump. Everyone looked up, Hermione wiping away a silent tear as the footsteps grew louder and louder. Harry knew exactly what they were thinking, the twinkle of Ron's humour evaporating into the night as Sirius' own face darkened with their plight. But whatever they were expected, it was far from what they got.

The door opened with such an air of urgency, Harry was certain it was about to fall of its hinges with the force. Indeed as it slammed into the stonework behind, the echo it created was enough to even made Hermione jump, sheer apprehension that didn't suit her face etching across her features. She edged further into the corner, looking as if she was going to faint, reminding Harry of that battle in the toilets with the troll that had brought them together in the first place. And although he somehow doubted that Ron would attempt to knock out three death eaters with a simple levitation charm, he was sure that the danger would have a similar bonding outcome.

'What do you want?' growled Harry, now standing on his feet with his wand gripped tightly in his fist. 'Come to wind us up some more, or is 'the Master' ready for us now?'

Harry had obviously had enough. He was glaring at the figures through the darkness, the loathing on his face created by fourteen years of hurt and betrayal and now making its true debut. Harry was growing up, and fully prepared to face the battles he knew were to come. Its just too soon, Hermione thought, lifting herself off the ground to join Ron at their best friend's side. We shouldn't be facing this now. We should never have to face it. Evil should not exist. But one long look at the hardened face of Sirius reminded her that there'd never been any justice in the world as far as Voldemort was concerned. No justice whatsoever. 

'Harry…' his Godfather was saying, putting a calming hand on Harry's shoulder that the teenager made no effort to bat away. He even looked quite gentle. 'Leave it…'

'Harry, it's me…' said one of the figures, lowering the hood of its robes. 'It's Claudia…'

Sirius suddenly seemed to lose all control of his facial features, as a million emotions flickered across its surface where none appeared to settle. Confusion, distress, outright amazement. His breathing became short as he finally laid eyes upon the personification of his freedom, manifesting itself in this woman clad in black, flying into the cell like an angel of the night to deliver him more hope than he'd ever felt in his life. He couldn't help himself. He stepped forward into the torchlight and took hold of her arms, looking frantically into her face for any sign of recognition, any twinkle in those colourless eyes that even now caused him to gasp with the sheerness of their ice-like stare. But there was no need for introductions. She knew it was him. She could feel it was him. She raised her own hand and felt along his unshaven face, and smiled.

'Sirius Black…' she said quietly, so quietly it was as if they were the only two people in the world. 'The elusive Sirius Black. The cause of my insomnia for the past two decades. It's an honour to meet you at last.'

He removed her hand from his face and lowered her arm to her side. 'The honour is all mine, Ms Darlington. Believe me, it's all mine…'

Another taller figure was helping Ron and Hermione to their feet while Arabella and Remus gathered round Claudia, dumbstruck. Harry just hung back for an instant while they bombarded her for explanations, the other taller figure coming back to her side while the smaller one hung back strangely. Harry was watching it intensely.

'… They'd taken my sister Lucy as bait,' Claudia was explaining with rapid confidence as the said sister removed her own hood. Claudia pointed absently in the direction she believed the smaller figure stood behind Harry now. 'But luckily she had her guard, Damien here, on her side and so together they broke me free. That thing, Voldemort, he wanted me to…'

But Harry wasn't listening. Even if the world had exploded, it was doubtful he would have noticed for the surge of amazement that flowed through his veins as his eyes clapped sight upon the face of the Death Eater Damien. He'd unleashed a tired, almost frustrated sigh, scratched the back of his head and removed his hood with it, allowing it to slope gently down onto his shoulders and the folds to cascade down his back, finally revealing his face. Harry was so taken back he couldn't even get the words out. He sucked in a deep, deep breath and spoke.

'Draco?'

Draco Malfoy didn't flinch. He didn't even blink. His white blond hair was lying long around his ears, untouched by the dark that was yet to fill his pale, pointed face with any form of colour or emotion. He just stared at Harry, his slate-grey eyes narrowed in their usual look of disapproval as he ignored the voicing of his name and addressed them in his bored, drawn out drawl. He looked up then back at Harry.

'Footsteps.' He said bluntly, ignoring Ron's dropped chin and Hermione's look of sheer shock. Sirius snapped back into life and agreed with him.

'He's right.' He said, taking Claudia by the wrist and leading them all toward the door. 'They've finally sent out a guard. And if we don't get out of here within the next minute, it isn't going to be pleasant. We can do explanations later. Come on.'

By the sound of the shouts now coming form below, Harry couldn't have disagreed even if he wanted to. He was in too much of a daze. He looked from Draco to his Godfather, via Ron and Hermione, and by the looks on all their faces they were as dazed as he was. But there was still a prison to escape from. Still a life to be saved. And with that in mind, he wasn't going to hang around. With one last look to the left and the right, the group departed from the cell and ran straight into the dark, the door slamming silently behind them. 

***

A/N: *Puts her hands up* Yeah, you were right. You got me. Damien is Draco. And the bonus prize for guessing the plot goes to METMA Mandy! *Claps Wildly* Well done matey. Take a chocolate frog. Mandy was the first to get it, but also well done to everyone else who suspected the truth. 'Damien' says hello! Hope you like this enough to send me a review, or hate it enough to tell me how to put it right. Ta to my beta again who is a very, very nice person. Go and review people. Please?


	11. Time for the Truth

A/N: *Gawps at the computer screen* I can't believe this thing has stretched this far. And there's at least (not including this) another three parts to go. Phew. Sorry about the delay… I've been doing exams! Argh! Just a little bit of escape stuff and finally the truth about the time turner… Anyway, I do hope you enjoy this. You just can't imagine how hard it was to write… 

Dis: I own the unknown witness and her associates. JKR owns the rest and the concept the witness was witness to. Other bodies own other bits and everything you don't recognise as mine is theirs. But if JK wants to donate Ron to me for an evening, she'd be quite welcome. 

****

The Unknown Witness

__

Time for the Truth

They ran. Sirius now had adopted the role of Claudia's guide, as if she were his soul responsibility, his soul possession, something so delicate and precious he had to protect it at all costs. And not just for himself. The guilt he felt was blazing in his eyes and hardly avoidable. He almost held himself with open disgust; ashamed of dragging the innocent into what he thought should have been his battle alone. The events of Halloween had turned him into a solo flyer, not just for his own ease but to protect those he loved the most. He didn't want anyone else hurt. He thought he had failed himself.

The group followed Draco absently, his cloak billowing out behind as he turned the corners of the lair like he knew the back of his hand. Then the thought occurred to Harry that this was probably the case. He pondered this fleetingly as he ran, the sharp corners of the time turner in digging in his pocket, bashing against his leg with every step and reminding him how they got in this sorry mess in the first place. But why was Draco helping them? What did he get out of it? Was this really the boy who only two months ago had come into his compartment on the Hogwarts Express proclaiming the rise of the dark with glee? Draco's words that day echoed round his mind… _'They'll be the first to go, now the Dark Lord's back! Mudbloods and Muggle-lovers first!' _So many questions it made his head spin. It just didn't add up. Something had changed. Or so he hoped. He felt he couldn't confront anything more complicated right now. And by the blank looks of unregistered emotion that graced the faces of Ron and Hermione, Harry could tell they were feeling the same way. There was no more need for words between the three of them. Things had gone beyond that.

Remus was just quiet. He always was in bad situations, remembered Arabella who was running briskly in the werewolf's shadow. Silent and thoughtful. He'd always be quiet until the last possible moment and then come out with something that would save all our necks. He was always the dependable one. Remus was always the one to suffer the most, to always lose, to be left in the gutter until his friends picked him out again, not because he felt better down there but it was where nature seemed to place him. That always to her seemed unfair. Remus is the most decent of the lot, she thought. He deserved to be an angel. Oh why did we think he was the spy? She groaned silently to herself. It was always Pettigrew. It was always going to be Pettigrew. Friendship makes us blind. And taking a sideways glance at the witness up ahead, it came to her that it made others blinder still. 

Lucy on the other hand was too scared to think. She even had to remind herself to breathe. She was running from a danger she couldn't have dreamed of in the darkest of her nightmares. This place stank of it, the fumes of evil wafting along the halls, filling the air with its unnatural fragrance that made her feel sick to the bone and drained her of everything else. Every step was an effort, dragging her feet along with herself as the soles of her shoes pounded the floor without her notice. She didn't want to be here. She didn't want to face any of this. She just wanted to take her sister, wrap her in a comforting blanket that would protect her from hell and go home. Back to Rochester, back to number forty-seven. Back to Paul. Paul. Her throat seized up at the thought of him three thousand miles away, oblivious to it all. Oblivious to the magic, the danger and the drought. She wanted to see his face round the next bend, for him to smile and take her in his arms and say everything was going to be all right. She wanted to get out of here. She didn't want it to be real.

Claudia wasn't thinking either, but for entirely different reasons, and Sirius had his hand clasped tightly round her wrist and wasn't going to let go even if the world was to explode. They owned each other now. She was his saviour, as he was hers. They had a mutual dependence. And for some reason she couldn't put her finger on as she felt the damp air rush over her face as they ran, that was all she was going to need. Faith. Hope. Justice. They were the means to the end for both of them. And that's what drove her on.

The footsteps were getting closer as Draco rounded them off into a smaller side passage, barely used and even darker than the cells before. Sirius and Claudia delved in first while the others filed in behind, Harry eventually standing at the front to look Draco square in the eye to demand some answers. He could see his enemy's slate like eyes growl and narrow at him under the darkness of his hood. There was no lost love between them.

'What are you playing at, Malfoy!?' Harry almost yelled, too taken aback by the sudden turn of events to conceal his presence to the other Death Eaters. He glared desperately at Draco. 'Are you trying to get yourself killed or something?' he whispered frantically, unable to help himself. 'Playing double agent? I…'

'Potter…' came the hiss of a reply as Draco raised his wand. 'Are you going to shut up or am I going to have to force you?' 

Draco now held his wand up high across his face, brandishing it like a lethal weapon. Harry gripped his own tighter in his right hand and took a step back, alarmed by Draco's forwardness. He soon gave up trying to understand. Draco glanced frantically down the hallway, then back to Harry again who observed for the first time that the Death Eater's eyes were alert with panic.

'Stun me.' He whispered.

Harry's face froze. 'What?'

'Stun me and then carry on down that hall.' Draco repeated, calm and collectively. 'I can't stay with you, it's too risky. The others are getting too close. Take the first corridor you come to on the left and go up a floor at the first opportunity. The bog floor isn't far. Just get them out of here and be thankful you got lucky.'

'But Draco…' came Hermione's voice for the first time out of the darkness. It sounded just as baffled as Harry's. Harry could sense Ron step forward.

'Just do it!'

'With pleasure…'

Harry didn't even see where the spell had come from, the beam of light searing over his head, striking Draco down, his weakened form falling unconscious to the stone floor with a painful, stomach churning thump. Ron now walked up behind Harry with a mischievous smile on his face, looking at the fallen Slytherin with a fair amount of self-satisfaction.

'You don't know how long I've been waiting to do that.' said Ron, pocketing his wand and turning to the rest of the group. 'Let's go.' 

And as the footsteps increased with alarming frequency, no one was going to argue with that. They turned and fled up the corridor, leaving Draco in a heap of darkened robes in the middle of the opposing passage, hood down, sleeves flopped back and the beginnings of a dark mark etched onto his arm exposed to the air and facing up to the darkened sky. He would not be found until the dawn.

***

The footsteps refused to fade. Harry could have sworn they were coming from every direction, intent on encircling them all until there was no where else to go, until they closed in on them with their wands raised high and told them it was time to greet their doom. The passage Draco had told them to follow had been a very good one at that, but by cutting him off so soon they were soon lost on the floor above. They found themselves feeling much more exposed as they found their way through cavernous rooms lit by large yet dimmer lanterns that limited the amount of negotiable shadow. Their run had been reduced to a creep, and it wasn't a pace Harry felt comfortable with. The longer they were in there, the more concentrated the ache in his scar seemed to become. And it was beginning to become unbearable. 

Water was dripping from the ceiling as they entered yet another meeting hall. This one was decorated with various elaborate woods, crafted into spindly chairs that were much sturdier than they looked, demonstrated by the vast pile of menacing books that were piled high on one in the corner. It was almost like their library. The idea of educated Death Eaters seemed frankly dangerous. They paused to catch their breath, Hermione running a finger down the titles that seemed to make her cringe. Hermione could cope with most things, but specialised texts regarding curses that could rip apart your soul and keep you awake for the pain of it were enough to make her physically wince. Ron looked pained just watching her. Harry wondered not for the first time today why he made them go through this, the doubt in is credibility obviously noting in his face as Hermione quashed it with a scolding glance and Ron just raised his eyebrows. For it was then the worst did happen.

Sirius sensed it first, the canine flashing in his eyes as he turned to face the door as the footsteps made their final approach. They had delayed too long. There was no use trying to hide. Harry whipped out his wand, Hermione too, as Sirius attempted to install Claudia and her sister in the darkest corner for their safety, his hands pushing the pair of them wildly away while Lucy simply gasped and Claudia remained deathly silent, as if she too could sense the danger. Ron, holding his own wand between his finger as the door began to crack open, searched his pocket frantically and stumbled over to Sirius as the light from the entrance of the Death Eaters finally exposed the subject.

'Sirius!' Ron yelled as the Death Eaters began to shout their command, throwing some object across the remaining space between them that Sirius caught without taking very much notice. Everyone in the room had looked up to watch it descend in its arc, spinning in the air as light as a feather, its whitened tips somehow glowing brighter now. Sirius didn't see what it was until he closed his fingers around it. 

'What the…' he muttered. It wasn't the fact it was a wand that surprised him. Sirius hadn't had a wand since Azkaban, his own being snapped into two painful splinters as the last sight he saw before the despair of the dementors devoured him. He could recall it like it was yesterday. He knew he would never see it again. He'd had to survive on his own natural magic, what he could expel from his soul had helped him through the years, to recover his Animagus status and swim his way back to freedom to start. He'd learned to live without it. He'd forgotten the power holding a wand could bring. But this wand wasn't his. He shot Ron a very puzzled look, and the red head begun to open is mouth to explain when the wood seemed to burn Sirius' fingers and he dropped it, yelping with pain and surprise but his paling face wasn't giving anything away. One thing was certain: He didn't want to go near that instrument ever, ever again. It was evil.

But Claudia sensed it when it fell for a second time and held out her hand to receive it. It had been lurking in her room for all these years after all. She was familiar with it, but not with its intent. She even felt her lips move into a tiny little smile as she entwined the wood around her fingers, instantly feeling familiar with its grain and holding it in front of her protectively. Sirius just stared. 

'Don't worry,' she said without a hint of fear in her voice. 'I know what to do.'

And they didn't get much chance to go beyond that as the Death Eaters saw the scene before them. They all had their wands raised.

'_Expelliarmus!_'

Harry issued the cry and it was effective to an extent. The wands of the nearest three Death Eaters soared high into the air, falling to the ground in a silent clatter as its impact was muted by the sound of battle breaking out. A rattled cry came from the other side of the room as the air was sparked alive with a shower of curses that thankfully missed their target. Arabella was back as the Auror and was truly back in the job. Shooting one curse that caused a Death Eater to grasp his face with pain, she grabbed the shoulder of Remus' robes and threw him back toward the wall out of the blast of another group who'd entered the room through the back door. They were surrounded.

Sirius instantly sensed the change in atmosphere and the composition of his body reflected this. In a blink of an eye he morphed down to floor level, the dog-like form of the black haired Padfoot emerging from the dark to snarl and bite at the enemy like an evil hound of the winter moor, teeth rabidly exposed and hate alive in his eyes. He barked and snapped at Claudia's feet, keeping people away as she held the wand aloft, poised to strike.

A scream interrupted the proceedings from the general direction of Hermione. Before having to dodge a spark of blue light that seared across his shoulder scolding the skin as he fell, Harry saw her twist and twitch painfully on the ground, her hair spread out wildly as the Death Eater stood over her, satisfied with his work. The cruciatus curse. 

'Hermione!'

But then Ron took a charging assault at the Death Eater who inflicted the damage, forgetting his wand and merely going for the cloaked servant's throat, fists coming first in a desperate flurry that were enough for Hermione to recover shakily and effectively stun the offending enemy. But Ron didn't take any notice. He carried on punching - an upper cut there, a kick to the ribs - overtaken by a flight of rage and fury that scared Hermione so much she had to drag him off her attacker before his friends cast upon him a similar, painful fate. Harry had never seen Ron so emotionless. It scared him to see that this was the effect of the dark. Hermione staggered over, breathless, and slipped behind the chair next to Harry and looked across the scene with him as he allowed a second to catch his breath.

'Are you OK?' he managed to yell over the din that was Arabella and her one-woman war. Hermione nodded, panting slightly with a hand held over her heart, as if she wanted to check it was still alive and beating. Harry wasn't surprised - he knew exactly how she felt. And he knew both he didn't want anyone feeling that way ever again, so he tightened his grip on his wand and prepared to rejoin the fray.

The battle was looking desperately lost. They were cornered. More and more Death Eaters were piling in both sets of doors, beginning to encircle the marauders in the centre of the room. Remus had knocked some sense into Arabella who finally allowed him to help, both working back to back with wands held out like swords, a smoky haze now filling the room as they lashed out to protect themselves from the onslaught. But it was a worthless effort. Eventually a well placed disiunctio charm sent Arabella flying, Remus ducking for cover as dust and rock fell from the ceiling in the spell's wake, sprinkling himself with a fine layer of powder that settled on the shoulder of his darkened clothes and losing his wand in the process. He recovered quickly only to be greeted by his own wand being directed straight between his eyes as he attempted to scramble backwards away from it. The Death Eater cackled as two of his friends came up to join him. It was no good. Touché. Arabella simply rolled across the floor and landed on her feet with the elegance of a dancer, not missing a single beat as she scanned the room for new hazards.

'Sirius! Look out!'

The muggles had been spotted, and a new group of Death Eaters zoned straight in towards their corner. Sirius dove. At first the snarling dog split the pack, tearing robes and skin as he attempted to divert their attention away from the terrified sisters. 

'Get him off me, get off me!'

The Death Eater Sirius was in the middle of savaging was desperately swiping at the grim like mongrel, the hood of his cloak falling back to reveal a man Harry failed to recognise. His eyes were as black as Whitby jet as they shone through the darkness in terror of the animal about to rip out his throat, his mouse-coloured hair falling haphazardly in his face obscuring it from his attacker. He cried out yet again.

Harry almost yelled out himself in anguish as another Death Eater managed to grab old Padfoot painfully by the scruff of his neck. He yanked him back out of harming his colleague and threw the dog hard against the wall, the impact a sickening, bone breaking thud that made Sirius whine with pain as he slumped slowly to the ground. For Harry that was enough. He went to attack but found he wasn't going to be quick enough.

'Claudia!'

The witness turned just in time to feel the heat of the curse soaring through the air towards her. Harry went to divert them but found himself engulfed by the enemy and unable to be of aid. Before he could utter a word he was tackled by the biggest Death Eater of the lot, a physical tackle around his waits that sent him flying to the ground with all the air knocked out of him. He gasped and could only watch as they approached Claudia with their wands raised, ready for the kill.

But somehow, she was ready. The first wave she'd managed to duck, the holes they'd sizzled in the stone clearly visible behind her and Lucy, who was whispering their positions to her sister in her ear as they began the final run. But to Harry's amazement, it was seemingly unnecessary. She knew exactly what to do. She had the sense. She had the wand. She waved it.

Whatever she did, it worked. As she brought the wand across her and Lucy, it left a trail of sparks so silver Harry couldn't have imagined anything more beautiful as he struggled underneath the weight of the attackers currently intent on pinning him to the ground. She brought the wand round in a high, elegant arc, the shower of sparks raining down in front of the pair of them and shielding them in a mist that seemed to solidify, then disappear, before their very eyes. And the next volley of curses just bounced off.

'The Shield Charm…' he heard Hermione say in a stage whisper above the din of his attackers, astounded. 'But how…?'

It brought her time. Sirius was beginning to stir. Arabella on the other hand found herself being grabbed from behind, her arm twisted up her back until the sickening crack at her elbow forced her to release her wand, the wood clattering to the ground. Harry could see her wince. Hermione's hiding place was quickly found by a flood of new recruits, her grunts of objection as she was dragged to her weakened feet by another Death Eater causing Ron to dive again. He was however quickly and skilfully silenced by an unsuspected Stunning spell from the direction of the newly arrived Lucius Malfoy. Ron fell to the floor with a thud while Lucius' anger raised the roof. Claudia's shield shook with fright, flickered and died. This was it. They were done for. There was no turning back

'Take them all down to the Master.'

And then Harry felt something hard strike him across the back of his head and he fell unconscious to the ground, to remember nothing at all.

***

'_Enervate_…'

Harry groaned. He felt as if his head had been beaten with a sledgehammer, puncturing his brain and letting all sane and sensible thought out. He felt vulnerable. He couldn't see. He sensed his glasses were lying at his feet, so he felt around the ground and finally recovered them, pushing them firmly back up his nose but not finding his vision improved as a result. Everything was still a blur. He could see anonymous shapes moving up ahead in their silent world, hazes of black merging in and out of the shadows that to Harry seemed more frightening that just the dark alone. And his pockets felt horribly light…

His right hand was the first to delve in, searching frantically for the eleven inches of holly and Phoenix feather that had served him so gallantly in the face of all possible danger. But it was gone, a ghost of it sitting in Harry's pocket as if he willed it to be there, desperate for it to be there. For then at least he could face whatever his captor would throw at him with his head held high and some means to defend himself. But no, it wasn't to be. Standard procedure: Remove the wand and remove the risk. They'd got him.

The haze was slowly beginning to clear and he finally was able to make out the room. He appeared to be alone, surrounded by a sea of black with no faces that looked down on him pitifully, watching his every move with a kind of invisible intent that froze the blood in Harry's veins. The Death Eaters. He struggled to his feet, taken aback as they suddenly became alive when another presence entered the room and they stepped back like a curtain, exposing him to the danger he would have to face. Defenceless.

'Missing something, Harry?'

If he'd had time to find his voice, he'd have screamed. It was as if he'd fallen into a dream world that consisted only of nightmares - it seemed that unreal. But it was. It certainly was. 

Voldemort sat on a jewel-encrusted throne merely feet away, holding Harry's wand within his fingers, turning the wood over and over in his hands just like the echo of Tom Riddle had in the Chamber of Secrets. But they were the same people; they held the same mannerisms and probable intent. Harry felt as if Voldemort was holding his life in his hands, the part of him that allowed his magical side to be manipulated for his own means and to its full potential merely reduced to a vulnerable point to be exploited in the hand of the enemy. A bargaining tool. Harry felt positively sick.

'You are always going to play the fool, aren't you Harry Potter?' growled Voldemort, twirling the wand with more velocity. 'You are always going to walk right into the trap. It is beginning to be a little unchallenging. You cannot pose a threat to me, Harry Potter, for I will always hold the upper hand. The night will always come. You cannot change the fates.'

Harry glanced frantically around, his brain alive with the possibility of escape. No chance. For all he could see as the fog was finally lifted from his eyes was black, a sea of black being manifested as the wall of Death Eaters come to witness the finale of Harry's tragically eventful life. They were here to see him die.

'What have you done with my friends?' Harry spoke suddenly, finding his feet despite the fear that seemed to prevent him breathing as he scanned the room yet again looking for any sign of humanity in the crowd, for nay independent thought. 'Where are they?'

'They will be here in due course, Harry….' Voldemort hissed, his eyes alive with self satisfied triumph. 'I wouldn't like to think of them missing out on your grand exit…'

Voldemort was giving him a stare that was brimming with a hunger that froze the blood in Harry's veins as if they knew something Harry didn't. They were nearly anticipating the inevitable. You cannot change fate.

You can't change fate, thought Harry, in the same way you can't change time. The blood began to flow freely again, filling his brain with a new surge of energy as he ignored the situation for a moment just to think, only to think. He had the time turner. He had the method. The sea of opportunity that had just opened up before him from the prompt of Voldemort's words seemed to bless him with a new sense of clarity, the excitement of the plan formulating in his mind faster and faster until its pictures merely became a blur, but yet he understood. He could use the time turner. Voldemort didn't know he had it. He could go back, he could change it so they weren't in this mess, he could…

'Harry, what you are thinking is totally out of the question.' Voldemort suddenly finished, looking Harry square in the face with those sharp, red slits. 'I am always one step ahead…'

And Harry felt the ill feeling float back and settle in his chest as Voldemort placed his wand down by his side and delved into the pocket of his own robes to produce the time turner. He pinched it between two long, scaly fingers as he felt it up to the limited light, examining the enchanted sand inside with the air and precision of a high powered scientist. He revolved it slowly as he spoke.

'The beauty of time, Harry,' he whispered slowly and deliberately, 'is that it is so easy to manipulate. So easy to get what you want, even if you are not the one sent to get it. You can become its master without it mastering you…'

Harry frowned in his mind, mystified as to what the Dark Lord was getting to, what he was implying with his delicate words and his minimal gestures. But Harry's face didn't show a sign of it. He simply wouldn't dare. He knew Voldemort would do the same.

'You make yourself so startlingly easy to manipulate Harry,' he said, his eyes glinting evilly in the half-light. 'You still are far too trusting. I suppose you could say it was a family trait.' He cast a sideways glance at a Death Eater to the left of him, the figure in the cloak shuddering at his gaze. 'Your father by all accounts was the same. No matter, history holds no relevance here. Yet it seems to deliver more than I initially planned…'

'You…' Harry stuttered, realisation creeping into his face, 'You sent me the time turner? But how? Hedwig…'

'Animals are not always there to be trusted, Harry Potter. Your pet was easy to control. A variation on the Imperius curse and the package was safely in your hands. For you to do my bidding without you even realising it.'

Harry gulped a little and looked up at the throne, 

'Of course my original intention became altered by circumstance, which seems to have brought me the even better option. But originally you were just the pawn in an insignificant game with my friend Wormtail here. He knew there was a witness. His departure from the scene of the crime was not as fast as people who know the truth assume and like the true Death Eater he is, he enjoys the after marth of his efforts. Nevertheless, it came to my attention that his anonymity was being endangered by your actions. While the ministry remains disbelieving I am still able to infiltrate its ranks with my own followers, so exactly what your summer project entailed was of no secret to anyone. You do little to cover up your tracks...'

At this point, Harry sensed a shift in the Death Eaters as a few of them stepped back, heads a little bowed as one of their number was stepping to the fore. He heard scuttling and then Wormtail made his entrance in his Animagus form, the rat in all senses of the word. He felt his fists tighten automatically as Pettigrew the rat clambered up the throne to perch on his master's knee like some hideous lap dog. Wormtail's whiskers twitched a little as he relaxed into a Scabbers-like doze while Voldemort stroked his head with one scaly finger, smoothing down the matted fur as he spoke, his eyes not leaving Harry for an instant.

'Yes, Harry,' he said with a huge degree of control over his delight. 'I sent you the time turner. I charmed it to take you back to the scene of the accident so I could trace the threat down before you. We cannot have the position of our best spy compromised now, can we?' He ruffled the fur on Wormtail's head and allowed him to drop onto the floor and scutter to his feet, the rodent sitting up right and looking more alert than Harry had ever seen him. He continued 'We had our own eyes in the past, Harry. This time turner is not only charmed to its usual purpose, but is also an invaluable reader of minds…'

He removed his wand from his robes and tapped the time tuner on its head. It uttered a scream of pain that made Harry want to cover his ears to block out its horrors, But he couldn't move an inch, his skin suddenly cold as such familiar sounds were being expelled from the wooden casing.

'_Claudia Darlington…_' he heard his own voice say, an echo of what had gone on merely days before. Then they became even more muffled as it seemed to project his private trail of thought, previously unspoken to anyone but himself as he'd examined the address on his way to Hermione's. '_Rochester, the Medway…_' He hadn't said that to anyone, not even aloud to himself. That time turner, that thing, it had infiltrated his brain without him knowing it. It had read his thoughts. It knew everything about the whole incident and had been transmitting it back to its true master. Harry's head spun so rapidly he wasn't able to take in what Voldemort was saying. It was so sickeningly obvious.

'You led us straight to the witness and the evidence she was withholding. And when we went to retrieve that evidence we came back with more than we possibly dreamed of.' He smiled and let of a cold-hearted chuckle. 'The perfect bribe. Her nearest and dearest, her sister. Once she was removed from the equation, the evidence was readily available to snatch. Everything became unhinged and therefore easy to infiltrate. So easy sometimes it cannot seem true…'

'You kidnapped Lucy…' Harry breathed as he regained any sense of feeling in his brain. 'You wanted to clear the path to Claudia…'

'And her evidence, yes. Very good, Harry, very good.' Voldemort's face split into a menacing smile. 'You are learning. I like to have a challenging foe. We now had a clear path to the evidence, you are correct. Your little afternoon tea merely confirmed our suspicions. The plan was faultless. The evidence became Ms Darlington. She held the key to everything. Initially a single stronger memory charm would have eradicated the risk. But it became painstakingly obvious there was a lot more to it than that. She became our Holy Grail, leading the gallant knights onwards towards their doom. We were delivered our wildest dreams as your foolish Gryffindor tendencies led you all to her aid. An Auror. The Werewolf. Sirius Black…' the hunger in his eyes intensified. 'You.' 

Harry's mind was completely and utterly blank. He couldn't have spoken even if he wanted to. He was trapped. He had walked right into the depths of Voldemort's plan. Voldemort had truly risen again and wasn't going to let something as insignificant as a fifteen year old school boy get in the way of his quest for power.

'What do you want from us?' he finally said, almost already knowing the truth.

'Your death,' said Voldemort. 'And nothing less. What I was deprived of by sheer luck and circumstance last summer. Now we are on my terms, and this time I will win. Bring them forward!'

***

He couldn't sleep. He'd been tossing and turning all night, his wife observed, much to her own discomfort. She could, as she'd always been able to, sense his foreboding mood, as if he was waiting for something he'd much rather ignore to occur, as if it was such an implausible notion be would be locked up in St Mungo's for allowing it into his brain. As if something was back to haunt them. But she knew when things were serious, because she felt it too. They'd both felt it all through the summer and knew it was getting worse.

She tried to place a reassuring hand on his shoulder, clad in elderly pyjamas of fading blue and white stripes, but it did nothing for his mood as he suddenly awoke, lying on his back and staring at the ceiling as if he'd finally seen the light. Something had just made sense.

'Arthur?'

Molly Weasley's voice echoed through the dark as she saw her husband get up and almost run into the hall, disappearing down the stairs and into the dark depths of the Kitchen. Silence engulfed them for an instant while she was vaguely aware of the ticking of their enchanted clock merely a couple of floors below. She wondered what was so urgent that it was taking her husband so long. The chill of the night was finally getting into her bones as she shivered for a moment on the wooden landing, hoping all the fuss hadn't woken any of her boys, or Ginny for that matter. She leaned over the banister to watch the kitchen door intensely, the worry beginning to etch into her face as it seemed like an eternity before her husband returned, but as soon as she did she knew for sure that something was wrong.

'Arthur? What's wrong?'

He paused and glanced back up the stairs at his wife, his face frighteningly pale in the half moonlight as its crescent form shifted peacefully through the window. He didn't reply. He rummaged through some papers that were scattered upon his desk as if he were searching for something, the search becoming for frantic in barely seconds as he eventually dragged a half dried robe off the airing rack that stood in the hallway and slung it over himself. His face was set in such a determined manner that scared Molly. But even before he opened his mouth to answer her she could tell what he was about to say. He nodded.

If she had wanted to cause alarm to her sleeping children, Molly Weasley would have gasped. But she knew better than that. She ran down the stairs, her energy even surprising herself at the obscure time of the morning as she passed the same cooling rack and drew on one of her own robes. She had to see it for herself. She didn't want to see it. As she stepped into the kitchen it conformed the truth.

The clock. A mother's gift. How many mothers could claim she always knew where their kids were? Not many, not many at all. She looked at the hands and where they all were gently resting, almost beating themselves with the rhythm of her children's hearts, of Arthur's and her own. Each steady, each reasonably peaceful, each one pointing at home and asleep. Except for one. Just that one. And for a moment it was the only one in the world.

Ron's hand was on the move. It settled on visiting, just for an instant, before swiftly by-passing school and work, briefly considering hospital before it made its final stop, coming to a halt on every parent's worst nightmare. The hand stopped on the twelve. Mortal Peril. Now she did gasp.

'Oh Arthur…'

'The phoenix.' He said, his voice strangely deprived of the emotion Molly knew was threatening to buckle his knees. 'Let's go.'

'But what about Ginny? And the boys? We can't just leave them, but then Ron and…'

'Shush,' he said, pulling Molly in for a quick reassuring embrace. 'They'll be all right. We'll owl them when we get there. Percy will keep an eye on things. They'll probably follow soon enough, and we can't waste any more time.'

She stepped back and gazed at her husband, her eyes filling up with tears of fear, glistening in the dark. 'Do you really think…?'

But then she knew she didn't want to hear the answer, the immediate assumption. Wherever Ron was, Harry was too. Her boys. And Hermione. She shuddered at the thought, stepped into a clear space in the hall and nodded to Arthur. They had to go and help. But they knew they couldn't do it alone. She picked up the jar of Floo powder and threw it into the embers of the fire that roared ferociously in response.

'Hogwarts!'

And then they were gone. 

***

A/N: Argh! Cliffhanger! I opted for a shorter chapter as the next one will be frankly quite dangerous. All it needs is a thorough beta and it will be here for your reading pleasure! And please if anything doesn't seem to add up now, it will be explained at a later point of the plot. Things are beginning to come together and magic works in mysterious ways so you'll just have to bear with me. The chapters hold the key my friends, as within them are the answers. And I write much better under encouragement, and you know the best way to provide that. *Grins* Go review!


	12. All That You Can't Leave Behind

A/N: OK, so I spread this over a couple more chapters

A/N: OK, so I spread this over a couple more chapters. Please don't kill me, I just didn't want to give you a block of twenty solid pages of complicated plot that completely bored you to death. Not that this will mind as so much brown substance begins to hit air circulation implements that everyone is going to end up a very muddy shade of fawn. PG-13 rating for violence. And an advance warning: This is the cliff hanger to end all cliff hangers. If you think the rest of the story is bad, you ain't seen nothing yet. I am the 'sadistic cliff hanger author' and I'm loving every minute of it. Mwahahahahahaha!

Dis:The universe of Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling, and is used here without her permission. No copyright infringement is intended, and I acknowledge that I have no rights to any cannon characters, settings or events mentioned. I have no intention and no desire to make profit from this piece, as the credit deserves to go to JK Rowling as she invented them and thus owns all rights to them. Not me. Got it? Good. The chapter title is owned by U2, taken form their song 'Walk on' that can be found on the 2000 Album 'All that you can't leave behind' released on Island records. No copyright infringement intended.

Nasty things happen in this chapter, so be prepared. Life sucks sometimes.

****

The Unknown Witness

__

All That You Can't Leave Behind

Hermione felt something sharp press into her back and she moved, not by choice, but by some automatic feeling of co-operation that infiltrated her body through the surge of fear that currently engulfed them all. She hadn't seen Ron look so pale, not even when lying unconscious on the chess board whilst on the quest for the philosopher's stone all those years ago, when her scream of anguish then had echoed longingly round the chamber as she and Harry were forced to leave him behind. Ron now looked so devoid of anything at all he was simply standing there, wide-eyed and concentrating on nothing but the scene that lay ahead of them. But even if she had the energy to utter such a sound as a scream of horror again, she would never, ever have dared. They were in the face of pure and total danger now, and Hermione could see that everyone knew it.

Harry was standing some distance away right on the edge of her vision, unchained. He was facing the Dark Lord who sat precociously upon his throne, surveying his realm of control with such a look of self-satisfaction it made Hermione cringe. But not as much as Voldemort himself. She finally dared to look into his face, to see the image that had haunted her best friend and all the wizarding folk that she knew for all the time she'd known them. What they feared the most. His glowing red eyes were narrowed into slits of complete and utter contempt and Hermione wondered how Harry didn't crumble under the evil of his gaze. He was obviously much stronger than even she had ever realised. The skin of the evil sorcerer was stretched across his face, highlighting every bony detail as if he were a reanimated corpse, living on revenge and power. She shuddered in his presence. This man, this thing, he was the devil. 

'Bring them forward!' Voldemort cackled again as Harry's friends finally came into view. He felt his stomach sink and shrivel at the sight of them in chains, hope truly edging out of their faces and the despair that replaced it heart-breaking. Hermione held her head high while nothing was registering on Ron's face except for the subtlest flicker of fear. But they knew better than to show anything likened to weakness in the presence of the dark lord. They did actually treasure their lives. 

'So Harry…' Voldemort allowed his glare to focus on The Boy Who Lived again. 'Not only are you so stupid but to walk into my trap, you are determined to bring your friends down with you? Stupid, stupid boy. Your death will be well deserved.'

Harry could have sworn he heard Ron make a sudden movement at this hideous declaration, his chains chinking together as he jerked at the suggestion of his best friend's death. At least one person wasn't going to let him go down without a fight. But then Harry never doubted that this was not the case. He could see Sirius scowl.

'But first we have an issue to attend to.' said Voldemort, raising one hand from the arm of his throne. 'We need to address the muggle…'

At this, a couple of Death Eaters seized Claudia by the arms and dragged her up to stand next to Harry, the two of them and the Dark Lord forming a triangle as they faced what each other had to offer. All of them held a hand in this game. Poker faces all round.

'Ms Darlington…' Voldemort hissed in a sly, coaxing manner. 'Have you had time to consider my offer or would you like reminding?'

Claudia made no response, the usual blankness that resided in her eyes seeming stronger still under the onslaught of evil. Voldemort nevertheless continued.

'Ms Darlington, may I remind you that I am the most powerful wizard in the world? That me alone, the heir of the greatest of the Hogwarts four have injected more fear into society since the days of Salazar Slytherin himself? But of course,' he suddenly became sickeningly bitter, 'being a Muggle, you wouldn't know any of that, would you?'

Yet again she chose not to answer whilst Harry felt the blood of anger pounding in his ears. _She may be a muggle_, he thought through narrow eyes toward the Dark Lord, _but she's a hundred times more powerful that you could ever be. At least she has a soul._

'You were witness to one of the most hideous and unexpected wizarding crimes since the days of Grindelwald,' Voldemort uttered, almost with a sense of pride towards his most pathetic minion. Harry could see Wormtail's chest swell. 'Through this you put a substantial amount of my operation at risk. Therefore you have a choice. If you take the memory charm, I will reward you with gifts beyond your wildest dreams. Your sight, your freedom. Your life. You will know nothing of the nightmares that have plagued you all your years. You will know nothing of the pain. You will have your life back and live long in blissful ignorance. How so many in your position would long to have that choice…'

'Why?'

The outburst was so unexpected, even the person who spoke it looked surprised. Ron immediately lost the rest of the colour he had on his face, his childhood freckles evaporating out of sight as the reality of the real world and the dangers it held sunk in, innocence never to return. Voldemort turned on him and looked a little surprised himself, Hermione sensing Ron somehow straightening his back as the Dark Lord's eyes lay upon him. In the shadow of Harry Potter, people often forgot the strengths of a Weasley. They never gave in that easily.

'If Wormtail being found out is such a risk,' Ron continued in one breath, 'Why don't you just kill him?'

Voldemort didn't react, but simply chuckled to himself at such an up front manner. 'Why, my red-headed friend?' he said, as slyly as he'd addressed the unknown witness. 'Why? Because when Wormtail entered my service, I promised him everything he'd ever want. That is what the dark side can deliver. I have better ways to torture those who pose a danger to me than death, friend of Harry Potter. They have better ways to make up for their mistakes.'

Harry saw a slight flicker of a frown cross Hermione's otherwise pale, stony face, but dismissed it as a figment of the light. Voldemort dismissed his last comment and continued right on track.

'Nevertheless, Ms Darlington, that option is open to you. Ignorance and freedom through the memory charm and your birthright in your hands are open to you in this very instant. But,' he hissed, his face getting more snake like with every single syllable, 'If you chose to decline my more than generous offer, it isn't going to be pleasant. I am well crafted in the acts of death and torture, Ms Darlington, and adore an opportunity to further my skills in that field.'

Claudia face didn't react, but her voice just confirmed the obvious. 'You're going to kill me?' She said.

'Not just you, Ms Darlington, not just you.' He raised an eyebrow. 'I am going to let you enter hell with the deaths of everyone else in this room on your shoulders. They will suffer just the same for your lack of co-operation. If you are especially reluctant, I may even let you hear them scream...'

Claudia swayed but did little else, merely feet away on Harry's left and looking desperately, desperately lost. But then she spoke again.

'If I say yes,' she said, the control on her voice astonishingly, 'and take the charm, will the others go free along with me?'

Voldemort smiled smugly again. 'Of course.'

Claudia paused again, her head set rigid in face of the abyss. If Harry hadn't known better, he would have seen a moment of fear flicker across her eyes. But Claudia remained rigid. He could hear Arabella breathing hard on the other side of the chamber, her breaths coming in short gasps of apprehension while the others dared not to utter a sound or even help the muggle with the choice to end all choice. Justice and death of her and her friends, or freedom and naivety leaving the others to fight another day? After all, Harry could almost feel Claudia thinking to herself; they did all right without her knowledge before. They'd be able to prove Sirius' innocence some other way, for sure. She wasn't central to the cause. She sighed.

__

No, thought Harry furiously in her direction at he stared at her intensely. _Don't believe him Claudia. You can't trust him. We'd be better dead to him anyway. He's merely playing for time. Either way we die. Either way he wins. Don't trust him Claudia…_

She spoke.

'My Lord,' she said with such sudden humbleness that Harry felt his stomach drop further in dread, 'Thank you for offering me a choice. But I am afraid,' she let out a world-weary sigh as Harry closed his eyes. 'I'm gong to have to decline.'

Harry snapped his head up to attention as the words entered the air, his eyes suddenly bulging in mild disbelief. He glanced over at the others who had all jumped a little at Claudia's words, something indescribable flashing across Sirius' face in particular that seemed to bring it alive in the light of all that was dark. It was completely alien, as if he'd recently got it back but had never been able to show it until that moment. It was hope. Claudia almost smiled slightly in his general direction before she faced the Dark Lord again, blissfully unaware of the true horror of his face but feeling the power of his wrath nevertheless. And at this declaration, he was steaming.

'You choose to decline?' he said, his voice remaining dangerously quiet washing Harry's skin with its ice-cold anger. 'You choose to _decline_?'

Claudia stood firm. 'Yes,' she said.

'Then I'd better give you a taste of what is to come…'

And with that he whipped out his wand again and pointed straight at the others.

'Luptandio!'

And Remus fell. His knees seemed to buckle in an instant as he crashed onto the floor, his chains still binding him as he twitched and howled in a way Harry had never heard before or since. It was worse than the Cruciatus curse, much, much worse. Claudia simply shut her eyelids and quivered at the sound, knowing deep down it was her responsibility. The guilt she would have to carry for her decision. And judging by the snarl that was present on Voldemort's face, this was just the start.

Remus was screaming as if he was being devoured from the inside out, but as Harry watched he found this description horrifically accurate. As Remus stretched out his fingertips against the flow of pain, the flesh almost erupted. A shadow of black was growing out of the skin as he let out another agonising howl. His back arched as he suddenly reared up like a wild animal, fighting against the pain that was so obvious in the dead of his eyes. They were shining out beneath the fresh layer of fur that crept across his face and blemished his features, hiding all of Remus from view except for the pain in his eyes. His human eyes. The wolf-like snout. It didn't mix. Harry was vaguely aware of Hermione screaming and struggling against her chains to get to her beloved professor, beneath of din of the laughing Death Eaters. But he suddenly found himself unable to do anything except stay rooted to the spot and watch while Remus Lupin transformed into a werewolf. 

'You hear that pain, Ms Darlington?' said Voldemort slyly as he lowered his wand but allowed the curse to continue, Remus now snapping wildly at the ground, his mouth portraying violence whilst his eyes pleaded confusion. 'You did that to him. You. You demanded pain and I simply turned the evil in your dear friend Remus into his outer shell. The ultimate pain, you know, denying your true identity….'

And as if to answer it, the half wolf that was Remus gave a howl of pain that was reminiscent of a wolf's call toward the moon that would forever dictate his life. Claudia shivered.

'Of course I couldn't push his transformation all the way. This is merely a half spell. Like only the half moon. This is forced. But to do something like this, to act against nature? Ultimate pain.' His eyes were glazed for a moment as Remus whimpered between that of a canine and a muffled human cry. Harry could see Arabella on the verge of tears. Voldemort almost shook himself from the distraction to address Claudia again. 'Do you want to change your mind?'

There was silence. Complete and utter silence. Claudia swayed a little on the spot but didn't answer, her lip beginning to tremble like a small defenceless child, unable to truly face her foe and put any visual image to the horror he wished to inflict upon her. She was utterly, utterly lost. All Harry wanted do to was tell her it was gong to be all right. Here there was a woman old enough to be his mother and he felt it was his place to do the comforting. In the world Harry existed in, he had to grow up fast. 

'Take the charm, Claudia.' said a voice, suddenly piercing the darkness and causing every single pair of eyes to swing and focus upon its source. The voice drew breath again. 'Take it and get out of here.'

Harry stared. His Godfather, his head held high and darkened eyes twinkling brightly with determination, took a step forward away from his companions to address the unknown witness. Arabella, now crouched by Remus' side and trying to calm the half-turned wolf with a gentle stroking motion merely lifted her head to watch, the tears truly glistening on her normally cheerful face. They looked completely out of context. Remus whined. Harry could in fact hear poor Lucy shaking, her fear for her sister, her friends and herself being clearly manifested by the metal of her chains clinking as she shivered. Hermione and Ron didn't even flinch. It was as if they were expecting this, as if they already knew. But for Sirius and Claudia, it was as of there was no one else in the room. 

'Take the charm.' Sirius repeated as clearly as the day. 'Just go.'

'No…' Claudia repeated with just as much clarity, turning to face him. 'I know where you are,' she said, her eyes fixed hungrily on his as of they were the only thing her blindness allowed her to see. 'I've always known where you are. I can feel it. It's like a second sense. And as long as I can feel that, I'm never going to abandon you.' She smiled, her eyes still ice-white but for the first time since meeting Claudia Darlington in that darkened hospital room fourteen years ago flashing something like a smile across the irises. 'I'm your witness.'

He sighed, knowing it was to be a losing battle he was attempting to fight. And smiled. 'I know.'

'Seeming as though you two are so touchingly close…' interrupted Voldemort, the evil glint in his bright red slits growing stronger at the thought, 'I think he will be the first to die.'

But Sirius was too fast for him. Too fast for the most evil wizard ever to have walked the face of the earth since the days of Slytherin himself. Too fast for his own good. As Voldemort raised his wand and uttered a curse that would strike fear in the heart of many just at the sound of its syllables, Sirius pulled out the Animagi card and played it to his full potential. He vanished. Voldemort's spell just hit air and then cracked into the wall of the chamber, causing debris to scatter and every direction and Harry to duck and throw himself upon the cold stone floor with his arms over his head. All he could do was glance up and watch as Sirius Black, snarling all the way in his dog-like form, made for the Dark Lord's throat.

'Sirius!'

Voldemort yelled out a strangled cry as the dark shadow of Padfoot easily slid out of the chains that had bound his human form to launch his attack, just as Voldemort rose and performed the deadly curse that went shooting off in completely the wrong direction. Sirius knocked the Dark Lord flying; weapons and all, sending Voldemort thumping painfully into his throne and straight upon the floor, horrified. The heavy weight of Sirius was soon upon him, the dog exposing his claws from the dark recess of his paws and striking the Lord within an inch of his life. Voldemort could do nothing. But it didn't mean his minions couldn't.

'Curse him!' he managed to screech as he tried to wrestle the mongrel off while desperately clinging onto his wand. 'Seize him!'

The Death Eaters raised their wands, but didn't respond. They simply stared. They couldn't attack the attacker without bringing harm to their master himself. The pair of them were in too close proximity: the spell could deflect off one onto the other. But surely Voldemort was more powerful than that? What was it that Voldemort said in the summer? Harry thought to himself in a flash as his muscles willed him to move, to do something, but his brain was lacking in ideas. _You know my goal - to conquer death… _The words echoed painfully in Harry's head as quick as a bolt of lightning. However it was shortly resolved by a rumble of resolution. _But I was willing to embrace the mortal life again before chasing immortal_… of course. The Death Eaters wouldn't be able to take that risk. Voldemort could be killed. But as the realisation of this possibility began to sink into Harry's already frantic mind, a number of things happened. And it all began with a wand.

Sirius and Voldemort continued their fatal dance. Sirius barked, an angry cry as he attempted to mutilate the Dark Lord again, swiping with his paws and teeth with more savagery than Harry had thought possible. He could hear Lucy's muffled scream, the Death eaters pleading their case to their master as they stood by and did nothing. He could sense Claudia standing as stock-still as them all. But despite the subtleness of the motion it accompanied, a sound overrode everything. He looked down.

Almost like a trickle, an object was approaching him; heart-breakingly slow as the darkness kept it hidden nearly until it reached the tip of Harry's shoe. But there was no mistaking it once it reached its destination. Eleven inches, Holly, Phoenix Feather. His wand. His chance. Sirius' hope. He used it.

__

'Libero!'

And the chains that bound his friends disintegrated around their wrists and crumbled to dust upon the floor. The Death Eaters guarding them almost jumped back in shock. They were ready to fight now.

__

'Accio wands!'

Arabella cast her hand out away from her as the objects obeyed her command, suddenly tearing themselves away from the servants who held them as they arched into the air and back to their rightful owners. Ron in particular grabbed his with vigour and prepared to face the fray, but not before casting a confused frown upon his forehead as the Death Eaters around them got ready for their attack.

'But how?…' he whispered to no one in particular.

'Wand-less spells, Ron,' said Hermione quickly, raising her own fusion of nine and a quarter inches of Silver birch and dragon heartstring. 'We're magic. It's in our blood. We don't need our wands for everything, but it does take a lot of practise…'

But she didn't get a chance to finish before the battle begun. Ron quickly turned and hexed a Death eater who was attempting to sneak up on Hermione from behind, the spell hitting the offender square in the face as he fell, screaming as the Furnunculus curse took effect. Ron shivered. Hermione however was not deterred but simply applied her theory, a clever combination of the Reducter curse and a banishing charm that sent the enemy flying back into the chamber wall. Lucy had found her sister and pulled her away, sensing the muggles were out of their depth and wanting to protect the witness. They didn't want to go though all this for nothing. Even Arabella, somehow energised by this sudden turn of events, swung round on two Death Eaters and froze them on the spot, the punch that followed strong enough to send both crashing to the floor and knocking them unconscious in its wake. She nodded to the half-wolf Remus, whose human eyes flashed in understanding as he took to flight himself, snapping more viscously than Padfoot ever could causing a great many Death Eater to flee in pure and utter terror. In reality they had no stomach for the forces of the dark, and Voldemort seemed to know this. He bellowed his frustration.

'I have had enough!' he cried, as he managed to finally free a spider-like hand and grasp Harry's godfather painfully round the throat.

'No!'

Harry had to get there. He had to help Sirius. But he had a wall of Death Eaters to get through first, but that was unlikely to stop The Boy Who Lived. He rapidly shot out spell after spell, all the knowledge and preparation that he hadn't been able to apply in the midst of the third task suddenly proving essential. He felt a fire of rage burn in his chest. He had to get to Sirius. There was nothing else to it, except…

'Lucy! Look out!'

Arabella's cry raised the muggle's attention just in time as a larger figure cloaked in black begun his silent approach. Claudia had just scrambled for the wand that remained in her pocket when Lucy got to the threat first, her eyes flashing furiously at whatever he was intending.

'Take that!'

She promptly turned on the spot and viciously brought up her knee, causing the Death eater to suddenly reel back in unexpected pain as she followed it up with a neat upper cut that was the last thing the enemy was expecting. A stunning spell from the direction of Harry finally finished him off, but not without a note of self-satisfaction infiltrating the voice of innocent Lucy.

'And that…' she said, giving the limp body of the fallen Death Eater a good healthy kick, 'is what you get for messing with my sister!'

But the moment of jubilation over this little victory was incredibly short-lived. Harry finally cut down the last of the Death Eaters between him and the Dark Lord, sending them fleeing for their lives or simply diverting their attention, and was about to come to his godfather's aid when Voldemort took the initiative. He suddenly smiled. And with Voldemort, that was never, ever good.

'Alas, my canine friend,' he spat, his personal pleasure from what he was about to undertake dominating his snake-like features, 'All good things must come to an end…'

And then he raised his wand and muttered an incantation. It just happened so fast. The piece of transfiguration was something Harry had never heard before, but it must have been powerfully dark as it temporarily blacked out the scene. All light seemed to evaporate in the wake of its evil and then proceeded to suddenly flash back, causing Voldemort's newly transfigured wand to glint a little in the light, the sharp edges of the knife foretelling all the future. It was raised and then its horrible damage inflicted as Voldemort used it to pierce poor Sirius' flesh. Again. And again. The form of Padfoot toppled backwards, weakened by the wound, as Voldemort stabbed again, the look of murder flashing across his eyes as he launched a fresh attack. Except this time, Harry was ready.

__

'Expelliarmus!'

So simple, yet so effective. Voldemort's hand let go of the knife as if it were in fire, sending it flying across the chamber and hitting the ground in an equally blinding light that forced it to transfigured itself back into his wand again. Lord Voldemort was tool-less, but certainly not out of ideas.

'Very clever, Mr Potter,' he said in a drawl that made Harry's stomach churn as he slowly made his approach, 'Very clever indeed. But as your friend observed earlier, without a wand at hand a truly great wizard is far from powerless. _Reducto_!'

Harry ducked as the spell was shot out from Voldemort's fingers and went soaring over his head and impacted against the wall, covering him in dust. He straightened again with eyes blazing as the others still fought gallantly out of the corner of his eye to come to Sirius' aid. The dog was painfully clambering back onto his feet.

'Fast reflexes too, I see, so much like your father…' Voldemort sneered at the thought. 'I can see why you excel at Quidditch. Always a sport for the fast, indeed, and most definitely for the stupid. This time you won't escape. _Imperio_.'

Voldemort said this lazily as Harry for the briefest of instants felt as if he were floating away. But he supposed as the command was not issued from a wand, its effects were hardly able to penetrate his skin as he simply shook himself right and gripped his wand tighter, the veil of peace lifting from his mind to be simply replaced by the chaos. If Voldemort was astounded, he did not show it. Harry wondered for a moment whether that face was able to show any emotion at all. For then the furious battle commenced. 

Harry threw everything he could at Voldemort, the desperation to break off the escapade and come to the aid of his injured Godfather painfully obvious in his voice, the tone quavering even as he issued an impediment curse that Voldemort batted off easily. The volley of spells was fast and furious, as much as the cries from the other side of the room were as everyone fought their own private battle to get to the person of priority. Claudia got up to run just as another reductor curse helped lower the stability of the cavern ceiling. The cracks were beginning to arch frighteningly over Harry's head when at last it happened. Sirius leaped haphazardly for the Dark Lord's unprotected wand and let his bloody teeth close up around it.

Voldemort suddenly wrenched. It was as if some higher being had finally pulled a string, tagging the puppet of the Dark Lord back and sending him plunging to the floor like a real-life voodoo doll. As if someone else was inflicting the damage upon him. Harry could see Sirius putting every last ounce of strength he had into holding his grip on the wand, his teeth creating grooves in the fifty-year-old wood and in their wake creased Voldemort. The wood was beginning to splinter as the Death Eaters began to flee in terror. All except, for once, the rat.

'Seize him Wormtail!' Voldemort screamed as pain washed over every inch of his body, 'Kill the dog, I order you!'

He was clearly out for retaliation, and Wormtail was not going to deny his master of such a noble cause. The small shabby wizard delved into the depths of his black Death Eater robes and pulled out his own weapon, a battered wand that had certainly seen much better days. Indeed even Wormtail fumbled with it, the wood clattering clumsily to the floor as he swept down to pick it up again, murmuring his apologies

'But I'm just not used to it, my Lord,' he whimpered, 'I - '

'Just kill him!'

And with that Harry ran and threw himself in front of his godfather, arms spread out at his side as he turned to face the traitor with his eyes ablaze with fire. Wormtail flinched.

'Kill them both!' 

Wormtail's face paled as he raised the wand high.

'Avada Kedavra!'

Then it exploded. It was as if the wand just wouldn't except the command it was given, bucking like a horse afraid of a strange rider and obviously showing its discomfort. It fizzed as Wormtail yelped in surprised, still clutching the wood as the green light of the killing curse gradually engulfed the whole magical creation. It worked its way slowly towards his glinting metal limb, the occasional spark bouncing off the gauntlet. The light illuminated his pale pointed face in its eerie forest glow, the duck egg-like tint it gave his features portraying nothing less than pure and utter horror. The wand burned down to his fingertip as he finally let it go, the last crumbs of the creation trickling to the ground just as Sirius finally splintered the wood through and through. Voldemort stumbled, weakened severely, and the Death Eaters began to fight back.

Few had remained in the room whilst the others led their assault, being ill prepared and out of practise in battling with the will of the good. But with their master down and powerless to do nothing but command, his screams of vengefulness echoing painfully round the chamber, they were compelled to fight like they never had before, anything to prevent the group from reaching the injured Sirius. And they did. Arabella had her work cut out as finally Remus pounced, allowing his animal instinct to take hold of his human mind for an instant as he swiped the enemy down with the most powerful of canine claws. Ron and Hermione merely fought to protect their cover, both watching each other's backs and working so seamlessly as a team Harry if he hadn't known better would have thought they could read each other's minds. But Lucy amidst the chaos did something no one would ever have predicted. 

Her tight grip on Claudia had gone as her sister had fled to Sirius' side, sweeping up the dog in her arms being careful not to tear the wound. She'd known instinctively where he laid and calmed the twitching corpse, breaths still being drawn by the dog but painfully drawn out ones at that. Lucy had to do something. She couldn't cower in the corner like the insignificant person she felt as everyone around her waged their own private battles. The wizards among them merely fighting for their lives with magic as their tool, with Harry facing the killer of his parents and a thousand more besides, waiting to seize his chance. Anything to help the boy along his frightful way. Then she saw it.

Just feet away from the throne of the most evil man alive, lay his tool of utter deception. The little glimmering fusion of wood, sand and glass that had helped them walk right into the depths of hell itself. The time turner merely lay flat on its side, motionless, an innocent object unaware of the destruction it caused once manipulated by the purest of evil. And she was barely a couple of steps away. She swooped down and picked the time turner up, an unforeseeable anger suddenly seizing her limbs as with all her might and without a moment of consideration for the consequence from the cause, she threw the time tuner at the wall.

It smashed.

It didn't just smash. It devastated. The breaking of the glass caused light to rip through the scene, almost as blinding as that which robbed poor Claudia of her sight and just as damaging in its force as the ceiling began to tremble, the dust pouring in like rain in a tropical storm. Total collapse was imminent. It was as if a million year's of magic were opened up in that moment, filling the room with its destructive elixir that threatened the lives of every person in it, whether embracing the mortal life or not. There was nothing else for it. They prepared to simply run.

Voldemort, however, was rooted to the spot as the cracks in the ceiling became ever more threatening, powerless to stop it without the magnifying capabilities of his wand that lay broken in a hundred pieces merely metres from his feet. He was frozen, petrified. 

'Do something!' he screamed.

Harry looked over his shoulder as he pulled Claudia to her feet, her arms still holding a tight grip on the weakened Padfoot, desperation becoming clearly set in the menacing red eyes of his nemesis as he found his minions deserting him for their lives. Even in a flash the plump figure of Pettigrew evaporated, fearful for both his life and the wrath of his master at his failure to complete his task sending the traitor on his merry way. Remus, although still wincing in the pain of his half transformation, still had enough human left in him to decipher from good and bad. He still knew who he was. He therefore was forcefully nudging Arabella toward the door as Harry led the muggles. Hermione ran over to him, her hair as wild as ever and reflecting the panic that had taken up residence in her eyes. 

'Oh Harry…' she began over the rumble as the first part of the ceiling gave way, her eyes beginning to fill with premature tears of terror and dread. 'Is Sirius…?'

'Let's get out of here,' Harry answered roughly, unable to match Hermione's stare. Instead he took Claudia's hand, Lucy now helping her carry the injured weight of his Godfather, and ran, faster than he'd ever run in his life, even faster than in the church yard just those few weeks before. Hermione took the hint as she in turn grabbed a bewildered Ron, his arm sweeping down and grabbing at something on the floor before he took off, returning the object to his pocket as the small group dashed frantically for the door where the werewolf and the Auror were waiting.

'Let's blow this joint,' said Arabella with the smallest flicker of a smile. And that was something she didn't need to tell them twice. 

And as the group began to flee, Voldemort rose again. He roared, a sound so inhumanely possible it was as if the higher powers simply wouldn't allow it. Instead they masked it with the sound of crashing rock as the ceiling finally gave way upon the head of the Darkest Lord of them all. He was drowned out as the trickle of storm became a flood, rocks showering down and crushing everything in its wake. It was devastating. It ruined everything. And as the rocks around him finally crushed him into oblivion, the Dark Lord's mind was set. His last conscious thought was revenge. Revenge on Harry Potter. And death, if that were the conclusion of this piece, would certainly not be the end of it. 

***

The torches had gone out. The dishevelled group, running at a limp as Remus the half-wolf led the way with his superior vision in the night, didn't even bother to try and hide their presence. They just had to get out. It was the only way. 

Lucy now had hold of the sleeve of the Death Eater's robe that Claudia was still wearing, flaring out behind her as they ascended the stairs towards freedom and the dawn. Both carrying the dog between them, she was her sister's guide, a role she'd adopted for the past fourteen years. That moment was hardly the one where she would finally concede that appointment. Instead she performed the task with a higher sense of urgency than she'd ever done before, almost dragging Claudia along like a mother leading a child away from the edge, the grip on her sister's free hand with her own so tight it was almost painful. But no matter what she wouldn't let go. And Claudia let her.

As Arabella lit her wand ahead of Harry to help guide the group towards the sky, Claudia cradled the head of the shivering Sirius to her chest as if she were cradling a new born, Lucy supporting the rest. The blood was beginning to stain her robe, its sweet, sticky scent filling the air with its poison possibilities. She held onto the fallen dog tighter, as if her touch was the only thing keeping him alive. If she let go, he would too. 

But Harry, little Harry, the fifteen year-old boy with a sparkling smile, the emerald eyes to match and a world of responsibility on his shoulders, didn't have time to think. He didn't have time to consider the pain in his side where a falling rock had hit him. He didn't have time to consider whether Voldemort would ever have escaped. He didn't even have time to consider the fate of his Godfather, lying unconscious in a blind woman's arms with an injury that had every possibility of becoming very fatal. He didn't have time to think at all. For in that moment, the Dementors were suddenly right on their trail.

It was Hermione who spotted them first, her muffled scream alerting Harry as he spun round and saw them coming. The soulless creatures almost glided the distance between them. No human-like sound echoed from their lips, except a horrifying rasping and wheezing as they drew their cold breath and sucked all emotion from the air. The group were swept with a horrifying cold, the words of Ron briefly echoing in Harry's ears '_I felt weird… like I'd never be cheerful again…_' before his words were cut off by the screams of his dying parents. And if that wasn't a sound that would ever provoke Harry into action, absolutely nothing would. He raised his wand on high.

'_Expecto Patronum!_'

The silver streak of Prongs rode again. Harry's Patronus almost exploded from his wand, as if it wanted to be there as much as Harry wanted it to be. The Dementors reared at the sight as the silver stag charged at their ranks, breaking them up and forcing them back. Harry shivered, his eyes wide and illuminated buy the light as he tried to absorb as much of the ghostly image of his father as he possibly could in that instant as it drove the Dementors away. They were gone.

But yet the Patronus seemed to linger, cantering slowly toward them with its head raised high and wide eyes bulging as if it couldn't believe the sight. They all stood motionless for a moment as they became captivated by the scene. Even Ron, whose hand had seemed permanently fixed upon his pocket, let his hand fall loose as calm washed over the group. Remus turned and stared as the Patronus walked between them, its gentle grace filling them with positive energy. It bowed its antler-laden head to Remus and Arabella then Ron and Hermione, before fixing its attention on Sirius, still unconscious in Claudia's blood soaked arms. The dog breathed with a shudder as the Patronus approached, more tenderly than it had the others and seemed to smell his scent. With the very tip of its silver nose it nuzzled at Sirius' neck, stirring him slightly and easing the pain of his breath. For then it stepped silently back, and with one last look at Harry, the image of Prongs was gone.

'Harry…' said a voice, that of Arabella in the lead after what seemed an eternity of silence. 'We've got to go.'

As Harry felt his feet move to follow his treasured friends, his body recognising the danger of their pause, his mind was still firmly fixed in the spot where Prongs had been standing just a minute previously. The way its eyes seemed to flick towards each of them in turn, the way it seemed to linger. Moony, Wormtail Padfoot and Prongs, he thought. He'd seen them all tonight, in one way or another.

Up another flight of stairs, confused yells of orders and pain echoing right behind them, and they were there. Remus' ability to follow their previously laid scent was at that time a godsend, leading them back to the darkened corridor and the rope, their only way out of hell. Arabella lifted the human-minded werewolf out of the pit first, pushing up into the ceiling and watching him disappear as his grip in the bog surface was enough to pull himself free. Next was Lucy, the apprehension at the thought of leaving her sister behind painfully painted on her face, but dismissed by the ex-Auror who held the rope steady as she climbed and sunk into the mud above, soon coming clear the other side. Claudia, still shaking from the dementors, carefully wrapped Sirius' body in the loose material in her now detached cloak, passing the body down to Arabella as she gave the witness a leg up. An anonymous hand from the heavens above pushed back through the bog to give the witness a hand. Then Arabella followed in her footsteps, a quick encouraging glance giving her all the assurance she needed before ascending the rope, showing formidable strength as she slung the bear-like canine over her shoulder and struggled to the surface. Then Harry turned to his friends.

'You first,' he said.

'No.' came the short, sharp reply.

'But - '

'Don't argue, Harry,' Hermione continued, expanding on Ron's blunt manner. 'You deserve to get out of here just as much as Ron and me. More so. Just go.'

And with the flash of determination Harry only saw in Hermione's cinnamon eyes in times of extreme provocation, Harry found himself unable and unwilling to argue with both of Gryffindor's finest.

'Watch your backs.' He said, pulling the rope towards him. And then the Boy Who Lived was gone, leaving Ron and Hermione to finally make their escape.

'Go on,' said Hermione, passing the rope to Ron. He looked timidly uncertain, an odd spark in his normally sarcastic eyes that made Hermione feel uncertain in herself. He didn't move. 

'Go!' she hissed, physically placing his oversized hand s on the rope, 'Just do it!' 

But as he finally heeded to her fierce advice and began to ascend the rope, he was half way up when the enemy finally came. The thumps of the footsteps made by the running Death Eaters were hardly ever mistakable, causing a flash of fear to cross both their faces as Ron neared the top of his climb. He stopped.

'Hermione…'

She pulled out her wand and waved is menacingly. 'Just get the hell out of here, Ron Weasley,' she growled, but still unable to cover up her terror, 'Otherwise I'll force you. You know perfectly well that I can.'

The Death Eaters rounded the corridor. They were merely ten seconds away. Time for drastic action.

'Not without you. Come on!'

And as the Dark Lord's minions finally reached their dead end and saw the escaping figures, Ron grabbed Hermione's wand hand, wood and all, and pulled her up with all his strength as the rope dangerously tensed beneath his fingers. It wasn't going to hold for much longer. He hoisted her up with one arm, showing more strength than Hermione thought humanely possible as he gritted his teeth against the effort as somebody above obviously heard the shouts and got the hint. The rope was being pulled. And as Hermione just fastened her legs around the rope and Ron, they were dragged up through the ceiling and up toward the dawn.

***

The end of the storm was coming. Although dark thunderous clouds were pouring their load onto the bog as Harry finally heaved his companions out of harm's way, the breaking dawn in the distance, far into the east, seemed to emit a beam of hope. He fell back onto the bog that simply dented a little at the impact, breathing hard as he saw Remus shiver back into a man, the lack of moon meaning he could not contain his wolf form any longer. They were all running. Arabella was on the edge of the bog, searching frantically for something Harry suddenly felt he didn't want to know about as the rain that trickled down his neck and steamed up his glasses cleansed him of the dark. He saw Hermione and Ron simply lying on the ground, awe struck at their dramatic moment and both quite unsure what to make of it. Lucy was running opened arm toward Claudia who stood to the side, her knees slowly giving way as Harry watched in slow motion as her sister caught her before she collapsed to the floor, her arms free of the dead weight she had been carrying. And as Harry got up and everyone began to move away, he saw his Godfather. 

'Sirius?'

Harry's voice felt odd in his throat, strangely timid as it entered the night air as a cloud of condensation. He stumbled as ran toward the limp body of his godfather on the ground, Sirius shuddering back into his human form as he put every ounce of strength into regaining his consciousness. Disbelieving choking noises began to emerge from Harry's throat as he felt his legs give way at Padfoot's side.

'Sirius? Sirius? Wake up! Sirius! I…'

Harry felt frantically along his body, finding the leathers ripped and shredded just like the animal's skin, the fluid that was escaping rapidly now glistening horrifically on its surface. He placed a hand over Sirius' stomach where the stab wound lay wide open as he tried to coax him into consciousness, his eyes wide and staring. Suddenly Sirius stirred a little, the dry specks of blood at the side of his mouth crackling as his face dissolved into a vague attempt at a smile.

'You did good Harry…' he whispered, blinking the blood from his eyes. 'You did good…'

'What are you talking about?' Harry muttered back, his eyes franticly examining his wounds as pure desperation set it. 'You did good too, Sirius. You did great. You're not giving up on me? Oh god, you can't…'

Sirius tried to take a deep breath but it came out as a rattling drawl. 'Harry, don't be stupid. Look at the obvious. You did good… Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs…'

'No!' Harry lifted Sirius' head into his lap with his spare hand, the other not leaving his wound. 'Don't do this to me! You've all I've got left! Sirius…'

'Get Claudia and her sister out of here, Harry. They didn't choose this. It's not their fault. Get them out of here…'

'But…'

'No buts, Harry. Go.'

Harry so wanted to argue. So much that the tears instantly sprang into his eyes and trickled down his face. But as his Godfather closed his eyes, he knew it would be no good.

'Harry! Harry! COME ON!'

Hermione's piercing cry echoed through the air like a knife. He looked up through the blaze of tears at her desperate face. He heard the footsteps below the bog began their angry approach and knew that the time had come, the others already preparing to make their hasty escape. He looked at Hermione and she instantly understood. 

'I'll never give up on you, Sirius,' he whispered hoarsely, finally removing his hand from where it had come to rest on Padfoot's stomach. The blood had taken over his own skin, running down the lines of his palm as it seeped from Sirius to mingle with the mud. Harry felt all the air being virtually knocked out of him as he desperately denied the inevitable. 'Sirius, just hold on a little longer… We're going to get you out of here. We have to… ' He took a deep, wrenching breath and closed his eyes against the tears. 'You're the closest I've ever had to a Dad.' 

He pulled him off the peat ridden floor and held him close, biting down hard on his lip to try and stop the pain as he rocked him slowly on the spot like a mother reassuring a baby. 'Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs, I…'

He pulled up the heavy body as he felt it breathe a weary, heaving sigh. 'It's too late, Harry.'

And then he was gone. The twinkle of the marauder had gone out.

'Harry! Come on!'

He felt Hermione's hand grab his own and pull him up off the floor of the bog, the tears still blinding his vision as he felt his feet pound the floor absently as they made their escape. It felt like they'd been running for miles. He was vaguely aware of Lucy and Claudia's outlines up ahead, Remus and Arabella clearing their path with Ron lurking somewhere in between. They were all looking at the scene, disbelieving what it contained but unable to accept its consequences.

'Harry,' Arabella was saying. 'We've got to go! They'll be coming up here at any moment! We can't…'

'We can't go without him.' Harry finished. And by some extraordinary strength he'd never found before in his scrawny little body, he sprinted back to the centre of the bog. He proceeded to heave up the heap of his Godfather and swing him heavily over his shoulder. He could feel the blood dripping down his neck and mingling with the rain water as his knees almost crippled underneath the weight, staggering across the bog to the others through the storm, each step causing him to sink even more dangerously into the depths of the peat. But he would never, never drop his Godfather.

Then suddenly, blindly, he found himself supported. And in a final flash of lightning he saw another individual sharing his burden, taking Sirius' limp body under the other shoulder and helping him pull it away from the hell. It was Remus. His face was twisted into a horrific form of determination, as if he alone would carry this load through the burning desert and die from the inside out before giving it wholly up. And one look into the marauder's face told Harry that no demand for explanation was necessary. 

'Over here, Harry!' Arabella was yelling, an old battered tyre at her feet she was glancing at anxiously. The last syllable almost turning into a scream as the hands of the chasing pack begun to emerge from the bog. Ron and Hermione were holding each other up against the elements, the rain that made the ground so unstable soaking Hermione's bushy hair to a mass of wrung out curls, plastered across a face which it framed in an expression of utmost distress. She looked at Harry, tears intermingling with the rain upon her face. She was speaking, but Harry couldn't hear the words above the thunder. In fact, she was screaming, Ron yelling himself hoarse along side but their voices instantly lost to the wind. But another voice was echoing in Harry's ears, uttered in his moment of terror not even a few months before but a sound more welcome than the song of Fawkes himself…

'_Do it now_.' It whispered from the depths of his memory, an echo of the Patronus that had passed them just moments before, '_Be ready to run… Do it now…_'

And Harry wasn't going to argue with that. With a new surge of energy that seemed to pass between him and Remus, the pair of them lunged forward with every last effort they could muster, as if it were to be the last movement they made. They dove, taking Sirius with them, dragging themselves up to the levels of their friends as the first Death Eater dragged himself from the bog. The man had his wand raised.

'Avada…'

But he was unable to finish his curse. The lightning struck a tree on the bog, scattering the scene with sparks as Harry shielded his eyes from its brightness, the Death Eater collapsing in its wake as they finally drew level with Arabella, Hermione, Ron and the sisters, all looking like the bearers of death. He grasped Sirius' wrist even tighter, Padfoot's face peaceful and calm in the sparks of the rabid storm. He was squeezing the limb to unbearable levels, and could see Remus doing the same thing. Their eyes met for a moment, and they both made to grab the tyre.

Harry hadn't known it was a portkey. He hadn't really known it was there. All he knew, however as the familiar jerk around his navel and the swirl of colours greeted his eyes, was that it was taking him far away. It was removing him from danger. It was going to make him face the truth of what just occurred. And he prayed it wasn't as horrific as thought.

***

The chamber was finally silent. Deadly silent. The stone had ceased to move, finally settled in their rock fall that created a whole new bed of boulders and dust that seemed to simply project a form of long lost tranquillity. At the end of the longest day, there was peace.

Nothing could have survived that, any observer would have said. Nothing could have lived. The rock fall was sudden, unexpected, unavoidable. It could have crushed every bone in the body if anyone was unfortunate to be caught in the midst of its wake. Any normal person would have simply shook their head and slowly walked away.

But the less accepting of the world would have stayed. And they would have been right to trust their instinct. For a hand, a single, pale, spider-like hand that was protruding from the rubble, slowly began to wake.

***

A/N: Oh dear.

Review please!


	13. The Value of Hindsight

##### A/N: I am so in fear for my life. I KNOW there are about a hundred people ready to lynch me right now, my beta was included until I sent her this chapter... and I'm afraid the explanations are split over two parts. Long, boring yet unbelievably necessary. There's more to this than meets the eye. I'm very sorry it's taken so long to come out… exams, uni open days, a baby beta crisis (thanks to all the folks who've helped me out - Guy Fakes, Flourish, Andy… Love ya!) I've had this planned for months, so please bear with me. Life isn't all prefect bathrooms you know. Brown stuff happens. I'm sorry. Forgive me and review?

Dis: I own the unknown witness and her associates. JKR owns the rest and the concept the witness was witness to. Superb quote from the Lord of the Rings (The Return of the King, Book Six, Chapter IX The Grey Havens) by the god-like JRR Tolkien and so belongs to his estate. It's time to play spot the quote again, and this time it's Shakespeare's turn. Have a go if you think you're hard enough! Other bodies own other bits and anything you don't recognise as mine is theirs. Read on. And have your tissues at the ready.

This part is for Kim. No explanation needed.

****

The Unknown Witness

__

The Value of Hindsight 

'I will not say: do not weep: for not all tears are an evil.'

****

Gandalf the White

The landing was familiar. Hauntingly familiar. The fact that the smell was different, its stale, hygienic flavours tainting his tongue as he drew in breath, his eyes firmly shut while others moved around him, didn't make a difference. He recognised this place; he'd been here before. He knew what was coming. And he knew there was nothing he could do.

'Harry,' said a voice, as calm as the ocean, 'Come on Harry. Stand up, we've got to help him now…'

And so he allowed himself to be shifted, to almost be lifted to his feet by the owner of the voice who held, within his elderly arms, a superhuman strength Harry would never ask to comprehend. He felt as if he wouldn't want to understand anything anymore. This world was too confusing, and its justice too far from the mark. It was happening again, only much, much worse. He finally opened his eyes.

The sun was finally coming up over the horizon, the storm here broken as it shed light on the subjects of the Hogwarts infirmary. The floor Harry had been lying upon was a shade of ghostly white that he found lacked all forms of comfort. All he could do was watch as Professors Dumbledore, McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey did all that was in their power to save the life of Sirius Black.

The three adults had lifted Sirius' limp body onto one of the infirmary beds, already speckled with flecks of his blood. Madam Pomfrey opened his unresponsive mouth to pour some form of potion down his throat, a little of the liquid trickling down the corner of his lips as she desperately forced it down, proceeding to lift up his left eyelid for any sign of reaction. None. McGonagall removed his jacket, and it fell to the ground with a thud, the metal zips and buckles of his motorbike leathers clinking with the floor as it stained the surface with its dark-red markings. It was ruined, shredded, wrecked beyond repair. Harry couldn't stand it. He picked it up, swept up the garment with one swift movement and held it as tight to him as possible, not caring that he was getting covered with the life force of his Godfather. He felt Remus' grip on his shoulder tighten.

Dumbledore had his wand out and his eyes closed. As McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey set out the peripheral fixing process, his wand was hovering over the central wound, a verse or two of Latin slipping out from between his lips as he moved his wand in a circular pattern. The consistent sound of the spoken words and the magic it was tingling the air with seemed to ease Harry for an instant as he watched, calmed with the fact that Sirius was in the safest possible hands. He was in the hands of Albus Dumbledore.

The Headmaster's wand suddenly began to glow, a pinkish aura hovering around the wood as he continued to utter the spell. Harry could feel his heart beating madly in his throat as the glow was slowly crossed to Sirius, the particles of light settling on his stomach and almost knitting the skin together. As he watched, the light finally faded, leaving no trace of a scar. It was as if it hadn't happened at all. But then Dumbledore sighed, nodded to the others and stepped back.

'He's lost too much blood…' said Madam Pomfrey, her eyes full of a wild concern and a sense of utter failure. 'There's nothing we can do…'

'I know, Poppy,' said Dumbledore solemnly, bowing his head to the ground. 'He's gone.'

And then total silence engulfed them. No one uttered a word. Hermione was as pale as a sheet, her bottom lip beginning to tremble uncontrollably as her eyes brightened with tears that were threatening to spill hideously down her cheeks. She shook her head, her lips moving to speak, but nothing was to come of it. Ron was still holding her hand. Lucy in turn had hold of Claudia, who she'd delicately turned away from the scene, sensing the need for privacy, yet unable to remove herself or Claudia from that fate. They were there and so a part of it. Claudia in her turn didn't move a finger. Arabella sat down on a bed, her hand on her heart; she begun to breathe erratically as Dumbledore's words sank in, shaking. Remus dropped his arms to his sides and simply continued to stare. There was an absence of sound; worse than anything any of them could ever possibly imagine. The dawn chorus of birds in the forbidden forest even ceased to sing. There was nothing. Harry moved forward.

His tears had dried up now as he approached the deathly corpse of his Godfather. No one tried to stop him as he picked up the hand that seemed shockingly lacking in warmth. He'd grown so cold so fast. Harry examined the fingertips, coated in dirt and blood that intermingled beneath the nail and still seemed fresh over and over again, concentrating on the limb and familiarising himself with it before it would forever be taken away. He felt himself shiver. He didn't want to look anywhere else. He didn't want to see the truth, the spell of death taking hold of the body that had been full of fighting soul what felt like moments before. He knew he'd just break down as he was already on the ellipse of the edge. He had to hold himself together. He had to have the strength. He couldn't afford to lose it. But he did.

Sirius' face was more peaceful than Harry had ever seen it now that the tortured light behind his eyes had gone out. His jet-black hair was a little less ruffled, still hanging playfully around his ears, but drenched in the sweat of fever, his body attempting to reject the toxins inflicted upon him with the Dark Lord's knife and failing in the fight. His lips were a paler shade of lilac, pressed together in a pout of child-like defiance in the face of it all now the blood had been wiped away. It was as if his eyes had sunken further still, the effects of Azkaban still present in his face even with the absence of life to remind it; the haunted look it awarded him as a memoir refusing to leave. A reminder of a life on the run. And his death a reward for his failed attempt at freedom. It simply wasn't fair.

'Harry?'

He ignored the voice as anger and frustration suddenly seized control of his veins, pumping him full of viscous intent as he squeezed Sirius' hand tighter still. Dangerously tight. Harry's fingers were blossoming red with the effort as his whole body began to shake, the motion totally out of control. He began to growl quietly.

'Mr Potter, please…'

He batted away the hand of the speaker as he suddenly leapt from the bedside, electrified. He felt like the whole world was spinning, the blood he found his own hands to be caked with sealing in with it all of its insanity as his frustration and loss was released in a scream. It was a deep-seated moan of anguish that seemed to drain him of energy on the spot and make the others leap back in terror, eyes wide and utterly afraid. He was heading straight for the edge. He felt his legs give way, weakened beyond reason, as the door of the infirmary slammed open.

He was falling, and then he stopped. A pair of arms, definitely masculine but unfamiliar at that point were saving him from the ground, pulling him up to an embrace that also saved him from himself. Another figure, hurried and plump, swept in behind to embrace Ron and Hermione, whose faces were white with terror because Harry had finally let himself go. At first, Harry struggled against this new found grip, unwilling to be restrained as the anger he felt reached an utmost boiling point, his groan shuffling into silence. The others could only watch on as Harry felt himself weaken into the robes of the anonymous man, burying his face into its depths as true tears erupted again. Everything seemed lost.

'He's dead…' he whispered, as if only first admitting it. 'Sirius is dead…'

'I know,' came the voice of Arthur Weasley, glancing up toward his wife, son and Hermione, his head shaking vigorously also. 'I know.'

The first cockerel crowed.

***

They stood there for what felt like an eternity before anyone dared to speak. Dumbledore stood at the bed, his head bowed solemnly, whilst Madam Pomfrey worked around them all, cleaning up tools and utensils that surrounded Sirius' deathbed in the manner of an absolute professional. She seemed immune to the end. Harry was vaguely aware of the formidable presence of Mrs Weasley just a few feet away, comforting a sobbing Hermione with one arm and keeping her eyes fixed upon her youngest son with a mixture of relief and utter astonishment. In the face of the scene that was laid out before her, she didn't have the heart to be mad. They were all just trembling like an earthquake. 

No one else moved, least of all Harry. He let the darkness of Mr Weasley's robes shelter his face from the light, hoping that if he kept it there long enough it would all just go away. It all wouldn't have happened. He would pull away and realise he was still lying in his bed in Privet Drive, looking wistfully at his countdown calendar and surrounded by his birthday presents from everyone he cared about. He could feel the hand of Ron's father move slowly up and down his back, soothing his sobs back into regular breathing again, calming him so to quite a reasonable effect. He sighed, pulled away and finally, painfully, looked over at Sirius' body.

He froze. A thought, a hideous, perishable thought entered his already distraught mind and threatened to topple him again as he gazed at the peaceful corpse beyond. It was ironic, considering the laughter and the pain that the body had been exposed to. Ironic, to look at it with the silence. He drew in a sharp breath before he finally broke the ice.

'It's all my fault,' he said in half a gasp and whisper, 'This is all my fault…'

He swayed but didn't fall. Mr Weasley straightened up as Remus finally reacted, swinging around, away from Sirius, to focus his eyes on Harry with a mixture of bafflement and outrage at the daring of such a suggestion. It cut off Hermione's grief with a knife as she pushed herself away from Mrs Weasley's comforting embrace, Ron standing there beside her and prepared to launch right in with yells of protest. Arabella was shaking her head whilst Lucy and Claudia just stood opened mouthed at the fact this rather small fifteen year-old boy was preparing to shoulder the blame. No one in that room could ever let him do that.

'Harry,' said Dumbledore, his voice as deep as his thought, 'we cannot make such an assumption until we all have heard the facts. We only know what roles we all had to play individually, and not the combination of their impact. Whether this was in our control or whether it just lay with the fates; we won't know that until we all explain the situation. And I suggest that we do that now.' 

'But Headmaster…' Mrs Weasley began, speaking for the first time, 'surely this can wait? They've been on their feet for a week and a day, the poor little loves. Surely a couple of hours won't matter…'

Harry shivered frantically again with the horrible sense of déjà vu. The lodge of protest had been Sirius' job in June, wanting the best for his Godson in the aftermath of his narrow escape from the hell that had been Little Hangleton. But Mrs Weasley was protesting not just for him, but Ron and Hermione too. Harry still found himself alone. Who would want the best for him now? 

'Molly,' replied Dumbledore, in such familiar tones they soothed Harry's mind like the quivering notes of Phoenix song. 'It's now or not at all. No one will sleep unless we get the answers. That was a lesson we learnt in the summer and one that we'll heed to yet again. Harry,' he turned and focused his twinkling blue eyes upon the injured soul. Harry again tried to avoid his gaze. 'You need to tell us everything.'

But surprisingly, Harry opened his mouth to begin, and found himself interrupted. Something else needed explaining before everything could be understood. Claudia Darlington, the unknown witness, the key to Sirius Black's freedom, stepped forward.

'Sir,' she said in a voice of controlled calm. 'You don't know me. I've never been to this school. I'm not even totally magic and fifteen years ago, if somebody had told me about this, I would have laughed right back in his or her face. But now I know the truth.' She held out a hand towards Dumbledore's presence, and he took it, bemused. 'My name is Claudia Darlington. I'm what you'd call a Muggle. I'm blind but I've seen enough. It was magic that caused my blindness. For I was one of the unfortunate people to be caught in the crossfire when Peter Pettigrew faked his own death. I am the witness whose memory they didn't wipe, and Harry was looking for me. And as you can see, he found me.'

'How?' whispered Mrs Weasley, wide-eyed and astonished. 'When?'

Harry answered and drew in a shaking breath. 'Fourteen years ago.'

And so the story began. Harry explained how he had received the time turner and used it without realising. How it had delivered him to Claudia and back again with such ease it seemed unreal. He knew now better than to have trusted it. Remus interrupted that he and Sirius had been at Arabella's at the time when they had received the owl about the disturbance to the protective magic as well as Petunia's phone call. They jointly recalled their own individual visits to number forty-seven, Lucy her own kidnapping and Claudia's run in with Wormtail down the town. Claudia recalled the hit squad whilst Hermione recalled the damage. All through this and their subsequent trip to East Anglia, Dumbledore simply nodded, his eyes closed as he sewed the story together in his mind with a subtle needle and thread, spotting the nicks in the flowing material and setting about to explain them. 

It was when Lucy first raised the subject of Damien that Harry suddenly felt quite faint. In the events of the past couple of hours, all thoughts of the face of Draco Malfoy being hidden underneath that Death Eater's hood had been driven totally out of his mind. Ron glanced over at Harry as soon as the word was uttered into the air, his look merely the personification of the rush of thought taking up residence in Harry's mind. Lucy was telling the Headmaster of this teenage boy, this thoughtful, kind and considerate individual who in her hours of darkness had eventually become her friend. He led her to safety at the supreme cost of his own. He had indeed rescued them all. And this was supposed to be Draco Malfoy. Harry still didn't quite believe it. He made no need to mention it. 

When Harry reached the part about Voldemort's wand, how when Sirius' teeth had pierced the wood he'd fallen like a rag doll and seemed to be rendered useless, Dumbledore suddenly stirred. A mild twinkle was present in his eye that had been frighteningly lacking when the light of Sirius had gone out. He sighed a little wearily.

'Of course, of course,' he said, scratching his beard as if it were obvious. He stood up and paced a little. 'Do you remember telling me how, last summer, Voldemort told you he'd guarded himself against a mortal death?'

Harry nodded as the repeated words were still fresh in his mind, but he had no idea where this was leading. Dumbledore took heed and explained.

'Well, such processes, although highly illegal in the wizarding world, as most ancient and powerful magic, tend to have a bond. If wizards seek eternal life, they need something to safeguard it whilst they go through the process of death. For instance, my dear friend Flamel was bound to the Philosopher's Stone. Without it he could not exist. What I suspect, for I cannot confirm the truth, is that Voldemort held a similar bond with his wand.' 

Harry didn't know what to say. He just continued to stare at his Professor. Dumbledore continued.

'Voldemort invested a lot of his power into that one magical object along with the essence of his life. It was that which saved him all those years ago against the amplification of the Avada Kedavra, the power of his own curse killing his body yet his wand holding the key to his soul, blackened beyond repair. He may have embraced the mortal life now, Harry, but that wand still holds the key to his greatness. And Mr Black was able to destroy that for us all, a most noble sacrifice. A wizard's bond with his wand is great and one of the most mysterious factors of magic. Without it we can say Voldemort will be suffering a large setback.'

'But…' stuttered Ron suddenly, his eyes shifting from side to side as he got used to his voice in his throat. 'Can't You-Know-Who just get himself a new wand? Make himself one, even, and come back worse than before?'

'Mr Weasley,' said a voice, unusually new as it entered the fray. 'Recall what I told you all, once upon a time. The wand chooses the wizard, remember?'

Everyone in the room swung round to greet the most unexpected of sights. For emerging out of the shadow in the darkest corner of the room, was the frail old body of Mr Ollivander. His pale, silvery eyes were shining like the moon in the twilight, his hands held delicately in front of him as he finally stepped forward. But Dumbledore held up his hand to halt the flow of further talk, and allowed Mr Ollivander to say his piece.

'Making wands,' he said, in his quiet, hushed tones. 'Is a delicate art indeed. And it is a very difficult one, at that, if you aren't one of the chosen. Indeed, Mr Weasley, I suspect Voldemort will certainly attempt to create such a feat of magical engineering. He's always been an ambitious one.' Mr Ollivander almost chuckled, but he composed himself and continued. 'But until he is able to walk into my shop and find the wand that wishes to be his master, he won't be able to hold up half the strength he was able to wield with his thirteen and a half inches of Yew tree and Phoenix feather. A barrier in your battles has been lifted I do believe, Harry. But it is still uncertain whether it's a blessing or a hindrance. Only time and experience will tell.'

Harry blinked a few times at the implication of their words, finally walking backwards and sitting on the edge of a bed. The scene looked odd from there somehow, clusters of people scattered here and there but all from their angle attempting to shield the bed opposite. As if they didn't all want to be reminded. 

'What happened next, Harry?' asked Dumbledore, getting everyone back on track, 'After Sirius snapped Voldemort's wand?'

'Voldemort couldn't do anything –' Ron flinched as Harry said the name again, '– so he screamed at Wormtail to kill us both. He tried the killing curse but his wand must have rejected it. It just sort of exploded in his hands and crumbled away to nothing. It was as if it wouldn't let him kill me…'

'… Because of the life debt,' finished Remus, speaking for the first time that night. His voice seemed croaky and alien, somewhat unsettled with the sound of speech yet full of the tones of realisation. 'You saved Pettigrew's life back in the Shrieking Shack, Harry, and that will forever bind you. He cannot do you harm until that debt is repaid. In a way, you own him. And I think that Voldemort now knows.' 

Ron seemed to shift uncomfortably, his hands now deeply set in his pockets whilst Hermione gave him a curious side-glance. Harry chose to ignore it.

He continued to navigate their final flight after Lucy destroyed the time turner, dragging Sirius' body back through the maze of tunnels and back onto the surface of the bog, dodging the Dementors all the way. When Harry mentioned the presence of his greatest fear, both Remus and Dumbledore, through their personal pain, delivered him a smile. Remus even a nod. They were proud of him; that was obvious. His wizarding capabilities seemed always unlikely to fail him. Or maybe it was just a lucky streak. Harry couldn't say for sure as his words sunk into silence. The story ended right in the room they were standing in with a great many loose ends to tie up. But Harry knew he didn't want to, being horrifically reminded by a glance at the corpse the reality of consequences. His Godfather was dead. The Dark had struck again, closer this time, and would be getting closer still. He didn't want to face that possibility now as he felt his eyes sting with tears again. All he wanted to do was sleep. 

He could feel his body beginning to shut down, preparing for the desperate rest that it felt independently of his brain was very long overdue. The bed he was perched on was so inviting, the dive under its duvet to forever shut out the cold, to pretend nothing had ever happened and return to a trace of normality. He sighed and rubbed his face, and to his limited surprise felt a little stubble developing along his jaw, though for now he made nothing of it. He then glanced anxiously over to Hermione, the weariness just as apparent in her face, still white despite the light, and knew that the story was no where near over. 

'It was a Portkey that brought us back here, wasn't it?' she said suddenly, turning to look at Arabella with a look of sickly curiosity present across her features. 'You were looking for it, as soon as we got out the bog. You knew it was going to be there. But how…?'

Hermione was cut off with a monosyllabic reply from Remus. 'The Order.'

Hermione raised her eyebrows, as if this part was something she'd already guessed. She was far from able to overlook the obvious. She'd always been quick to get to the point. But she was demanding more.

'The Order has access to a number of specialised Portkeys,' Arabella continued on Remus' behalf, 'that are already charmed to be activated only when members of the Order touch them in emergencies. They are automatically summoned here in case anything is seriously wrong. Isn't it nice to know they still work after fourteen years, Professor?'

'Indeed, Miss Figg, indeed.'

Harry looked from Dumbledore to Arabella, to Remus and back to Dumbledore again. All of them looked completely calm and collected as if the phrases that were tripping off their tongues were just another part of the normality of Hogwarts. Even Mr and Mrs Weasley looked accepting of such a statement, Ron's father glancing up at Dumbledore and sighing as if he was accepting the inevitable.

'I suppose we're really back in business, aren't we?' he said, now walking over to his wife, whose face was set rigid like everyone else's in the room. As if it had been a long time coming. The Headmaster slowly nodded.

'Yes, Arthur,' replied Dumbledore, now turning to look at Ron, Hermione and Harry in turn. He blinked a little then turned back to the Weasleys. 'The Phoenix has risen from the flames. There's a war to be won and we are the people to do it.'

Hermione suddenly drew in a very sharp breath as if something had finally clicked. She got the same glint in her eye that she did in an invigorating Transfiguration lesson, or was presented with an Arithmancy problem that no one could solve but her. It was the look that gave her life, when she read and worked it out, the cogs clicking in her head as realisation dawned upon her face.

'The Order of the Phoenix,' she whispered. 'That's what this all is, isn't it?' 

Dumbledore's blue eyes twinkled. 'You are very astute, Miss Granger,' he said, 'and a hundred percent correct.'

Harry wanted to make a sound; any form of reaction to express his bafflement towards whatever it was everyone else in the room was talking about. He wanted to understand. But one more glance at the body again froze any ability at expression. Ron however, his freckles still yet to appear, spoke out loud his thoughts.

'The Order of the Phoenix?' he whispered, confused. 'Mum? Dad?'

A silence crossed them all, like a soft summer breeze had rippled the water's of the lake on that mild morning and revealed a secret in its wake of such immense amounts that Harry felt – no, he knew – that it would change everything for ever. He shivered as he blinked heavily in the light and looked, meeting Dumbledore's turquoise stare to finally discover the truth. The Headmaster spoke.

'The Order of the Phoenix,' he said in hushed, controlled tones. 'Was started nearly three thousand years ago. Just as there is yin and yang, black and white, life and death, there had always been good and evil, and those who fight to defeat their opposite number. It is for this reason, this balance of nature so precise and delicate, the fight will never be over. It can only be controlled. Like death, evil will never be conquered. The Order is merely our attempt to achieve an impossible task. To see an end to the dark.'

Hermione didn't react; like everyone else in the room, she had her face so firmly fixed on Dumbledore that she wouldn't have noticed if the world around her crumbled. For Harry, it already had. 

'So, essentially, we are a resistance organisation, the most powerful in existence, run with Ministry backing and without, to tackle any Dark uprising that proves a threat to the wizarding world at wide. I am a member, and currently at its head. Remus and Arabella too. Your father, Ron…' Dumbledore's eyes twinkled in the general direction of the Weasleys, 'has been a valuable contributor. And, of course, Sirius.'

At the sound of this name, Harry felt his grip on reality slipping, his eyes drifting back toward the bed. Dumbledore sensed the drift and fixed Harry with his gaze.

'Do you remember, Harry, when you asked me about your parents?' he said, even more quietly than before, 'When you protected the Philosopher's Stone, and you wanted to know why Voldemort wanted to kill you and your parents?'

Harry nodded minimally, his voice suddenly dissolved in his throat as Dumbledore tottered on the edge of answering the question that had plagued him for years. Harry felt Hermione's hand being quietly placed on his shoulder where it gently squeezed the skin. He tensed up.

'Your father was part of the Phoenix. More than that in fact. For it had been decided many years ago that he would in fact succeed me and become as much a threat to Voldemort as people perceive me to be. A great exaggeration, if I may say so myself, but that is a minor digression. James was the best wizard in his year, for many, many years indeed. But the Dark Lord was aware of it, from the least suspected inside source…'

'Pettigrew…' Hermione muttered.

'Indeed. That was something that came somewhat as a bolt from the blue. The Potters were a threat. All three of you. For if your father was as unfortunate as to not reach the age of succession, his bloodline would have to complete the intention. His offspring would be indebted with the Phoenix. So naturally, when Voldemort killed your parents, the deaths of you and of your father were the only murders that were necessary. He was right,' Dumbledore suddenly sobered. 'Your mother didn't have to die.'

If Harry had maintained any colour in his face that night, it had certainly escaped him by now. He coughed a little. 'So, I'm a member?' he whispered, his voice yet again feeling strange and alien in his throat, 'I'm a member of the Phoenix?'

'That's how he was able to use that Portkey?' added Ron with insight.

'Yes,' said Remus, adding to the conversation. 'People in the Phoenix don't join us by choice; they are selected for magical aptitude and adaptability. It is out of our hands. And in case you didn't notice, Harry wasn't the only one taken back, Ron, Hermione.' All the pair of them could do is stare whilst Remus only briefly broke his stride to acknowledge them. 'You are all members by default. We brought Lucy and Claudia back by our sheer collective will, but your path was already chosen. Welcome to the Order.'

'But who put it there in the first place?' asked Hermione more urgently, 'How did you know it was there?'

'That, Miss Granger,' interrupted Dumbledore, 'is down to my dear friend Mr Ollivander here.'

Harry almost jumped as the frail old man stepped forward once again. He'd almost forgotten the wand maker was there. And how he wondered why, now the explanation was being provided. Mr Ollivander's eyes were brighter than they'd ever been before.

'Dumbledore approached me shortly after your disappearance was reported, Mr Potter,' he said in tones just as hushed as Professor Dumbledore. 'Naturally he was concerned, especially when the team he first sent out found themselves distracted and chose to join your noble cause. By the time I had spotted you all in Diagon Alley and reported back to Dumbledore and we managed to follow your track, the fates had already been set. I was following in my Muggle business van and merely left the Portkey by the bog. I have seen such events unfold too many times, I find myself sadly saying yet again.' He sighed wearily, and then straightened up once more. 'Indeed, the Phoenix throughout my lifetime has fought an upward struggle. And the fight will never cease. We knew that at the start.'

'The start?' said Ron, picking up on the last few words and repeating them for emphasis. He felt there was something still hidden, still concealed beneath those paling eyes. Ron's patience, short under normal conditions, was in no fit state to face the mystery. He wanted answers. And he wanted them now.

'Ollivander created the Phoenix,' said Dumbledore simply, 'He is the official moderator and consistent part of the Order and has been for all its existence. Its founding member.'

'What?' said Harry, a little surprised by any means. 'Three thousand years ago?'

'Brings a new meaning to the good old days,' replied the wand maker with a smudge of a smile upon his lips, 'for whenever they were they were certainly the best. Such a shame I tend to forget them. Yes, Mr Potter, I am a rare breed of Wizard. I make wands, yes, but only wizards of a certain breed of ability can do so. The process is difficult and lengthy and individually can take a lifetime. Hence there is a necessity in our world for somebody to last beyond that to provide the essentials, and I am just that simply because of my blood.'

Hermione's eyes brightened as a theory of explanation came and floated across her face. 'Phoenix blood…' she said. 

'Indeed, Miss Granger.' He said; his face now set stern. 'That characteristic awards me regenerating capabilities. I have seen every incantation of evil since the days of the great ancient civilisations themselves. I have an experience in the field of defence against the Dark Arts matched by none of my contemporaries at any stage of my life. Like I never forget every wand I sell, I can never forget a face or an evil when confronted with it again. But that does not meet I can fight a one-man battle. Everybody, as you are aware, needs some help along the way. Hence the creation of the Phoenix.'

'And with that, Headmaster,' interrupted Madam Pomfrey, snapping a large bar of chocolate into the biggest slabs Harry had ever seen, 'I must insist you allow these children rest. They haven't stopped for a minute since they arrived. You forget sometimes that they are only young…'

'Maybe, Poppy, maybe,' Dumbledore replied, nodding his head sadly. 'But that doesn't mean they cannot learn. The days will be darker, the light already fading. They need to be prepared and we cannot pull any more punches, so to speak. But immediate issues appear to have been resolved. Will you please send for a house elf to bring up some sleeping draughts to the Gryffindor tower? I think they'll be comfortable there tonight. Thank you.'

Madam Pomfrey left and was eventually followed by Professor McGonagall, who stared at the scene with softened eyes as she cast her eyes over the silent body of Sirius Black.

'The good always die young,' she muttered quietly, and left. The others gathered at the bedside in silence. 

Harry stood at the head of the bed, where Madam Pomfrey had dutifully covered Sirius' face with a clean white sheet, his features now softly blending into the sea of white as if they'd never even been defined. Harry felt his face screw up against the choking feeling developing in his throat and tugged the sheet back again as if he still wanted his Godfather to breathe. As if he wanted to face him and the consequences head on. Somehow, Harry knew he'd never be able to avoid it any longer. He was growing up. Things had already set about changing without his mutual consent and sent him reeling, gasping for air as he tried to catch up with a montage of images in his mind, before they engulfed him forever. He wasn't going to be a victim of the past. He was going to be a survivor of the future. And the first step was acceptance.

'Harry…' began the voice of Mrs Weasley, hushed a little as if afraid of waking the corpse, 'are you going to be all right tonight? If you want me and Arthur to stay a little longer then…'

'Mum…' interrupted Ron, his startlingly brown eyes now fixed upon his mother with an over brightness of his own. 'Shush.'

Arabella, ever so silent for the duration of the discussion, lifted her hand from her side and let it rest upon Sirius' forehead, unbelievably cold and chilly to the touch. She restrained her gasp. Instead she allowed her fingertips to wander onto Sirius' hair, covered in little flecks of blood that did little justice for his mission and his aim. He had died for them all. He had his chance of freedom and some could say that he got it in the peace of that eternal rest. For in that sleep of death what dreams may come. But others may say he sacrificed his basic right as a human, a wizard, to save the lives of his friends. Or that his friends had given him no other choice but to die. The 'what ifs' in Harry's mind were certainly running rampant. But he didn't appear the only one.

'We could have done so much…' said Arabella almost in a whisper, her lip trembling slightly as she spoke and kept her eyes on Sirius. 'We could have done a million things to avoid this. If only we'd gone to Dumbledore first instead of charging in there ourselves. If only we'd been more careful, we could have made a clean getaway and no one would have been any the wiser. If only I'd…'

But she cut herself off abruptly as Dumbledore raised his gaze and looked at each one of them slowly in turn. Harry felt his heart sink further than it had at any point in the proceedings. The blame. That was something he didn't want to face.

'Look at you all,' said the old man, removing his glasses for an instant and polishing them on his robes. 'You are the finest collection of witches and wizards I have come across for a long, long time. Only a percent of a percent could have achieved what you have tonight, could have infiltrated the most tainted ranks of the dark and come back to tell the tale, and indeed share among us in the grief. You should be proud of your efforts, even if not all of you could be part of it.' He cast his eyes downward for an instant, the twinkle fading rapidly as the thought of Sirius entered them again. He shook himself right and continued. 'Mr Black would have been proud of you all. He knew too well that life was unfair, and we can only pray now that in death he receives a better deal. 

'We could sit here for hours debating the blame. Miss Figg for failing to cap the plan when she believed she had the opportunity. Mr Potter for playing with the time lines. Young Mr Weasley for encouragement, even Miss Granger for the idea which was the most noble of thoughts. Remus, you could even blame yourself for being a werewolf and rewarding the Dark Lord a weakness he was able to play with. If we were being pedantic to the extreme, we could even blame Ms Darlington for her pure and simple existence. But that is all irrelevant. The actions of magic cannot be explained. It has its own agenda that is set right from the start that sadly cannot be avoided. You cannot blame yourselves, for in this there was a large element of choice. Sirius Black chose to save you all, over his freedom, above his life. He chose to further the cause by giving Voldemort an injury that will take a long time to heal. No one necessarily wants to die, and when men act with such nerve and bravery as Mr Sirius Black, the idea of consequences do simply not appear.' 

Dumbledore paused a little as the light in the room seemed to suddenly rise, as if the sun that had been hidden behind the mountain had suddenly escaped its own chains and leapt into the sky, victorious. Free. The Headmaster sighed again.

'There will always be a feeling that the night's events hold with them an air of ultimate injustice. But we can still take a lesson from that. The Dark Side will never play fair, and it is exactly obstacles like this that we will be facing in the future. Dark days lie ahead, but it is only through hope that we can keep the torch alight. If you think today has been long, tomorrow will bring greater challenges. I urge you all to get some rest. I honestly believe you've earned it. Harry?'

Harry hadn't taken in a word that Dumbledore had said, but nodded nevertheless. He picked up Sirius' limp hand and enclosed the fingers tightly in his own, feeling the flesh between his fingers as the heat rapidly departed. His face was showing nothing.

'Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs…' he whispered quietly, his eyes never leaving the corpse as he spoke. He blinked heavily and turned a little, looking at Ron and Hermione who were standing above him and looking over his shoulder. 'That's what he said. That's what Sirius was trying to say, but I cut him off too soon. What do you think he meant? Do you think there was something in that?'

Hermione blinked heavily in return and spoke in a hushed whisper. 'Harry,' she said kindly, 'Sirius had lost a lot of blood. He was barely conscious. He probably didn't know what he was saying…'

'Maybe,' said Ron, straightening up a little. 'Or maybe everything had finally started to make sense.' 

Harry at first dismissed the comment and continued to stare at his Godfather. But as the variety of interpretations that could be set in Ron's words came to light, him, like the others, turned back to demand a further explanation. Ron didn't need to hear the words.

'Harry, your Patronus,' he said, addressing his scar-laden friend. 'It was a stag, right? Like your Dad in his Animagi form?'

'Yes,' Harry replied. 'You know that Ron. What are you saying?'

'When we were in the tunnel and your Patronus warded off the Dementors,' he said, keeping his voice in quiet, controlled tones. 'It stayed for a bit. It seemed to turn to all of us in turn and acknowledge us. Moony and Padfoot especially… your saw the way it nuzzled Sirius, didn't you?' he paused and drew in a lengthy breath. 'I think it was trying to say something.'

'It was,' came a voice, dry and brittle from the other side of the bed. Remus had raised his head. 'I could feel it. He said everything was going to be all right. He was trying to reassure us. Good old Prongs…' Remus almost smiled at the memory of his long departed friend. 'Always the optimist. But then…' he paused again as a frown developed on the ex-professor's head, 'then he seemed a little angry. I could feel it. When he turned away from me to you, Ron. His mood changed. It was almost disappointment. I think Sirius must have sensed it too.'

'That's because they both knew exactly what I was carrying,' Ron replied with as much control as he could muster under the circumstances. For it was then he pulled out the rat.

Harry later would wonder how he managed it. How Ron, single-handedly, had managed this feat that would make Harry forever indebted to the youngest Weasley and yet in his freckle-less face show no evidence of self-pride or a need for praise. Not even faint acknowledgement. His humbleness would put Harry to shame. And no one would ever forget that moment.

Ron's hand emerged form his pocket in a tightly formed fist, a little matted fur sticking out here and there along with the characteristically bald tail, wriggling like an earthworm as it stuck out form the bottom of the fist, desperate to break free. But Ron would never let go. He gripped the tail tightly between his forefinger and thumb to slowly reveal the contents of the hand. His face remained expressionless.

'The rat was trying to jump the ship,' he said monotonously, seemingly feeling no pride at his incredible capture. 'I managed to scoop him up as we were running out the chamber. He was trying to make a run for it. So when the Patronus was summoned, Harry, he could feel its presence on me. I could feel it. I felt the resentment and I knew it wasn't towards me, Hermione, or anyone else in the room except the rat. This is Wormtail. He's the guilty one. And I know now it seems pointless compared to everything else, but I just thought you'd like to know.'

Nobody could say anything for a moment. Mr and Mrs Weasley, being confronted with the image of their son's beloved pet, were completely thunderstruck, despite already knowing the reality of the pet's evil intentions. Arabella had both her eyes fixed on the rodent, her whole body shaking with a mixture of grief and rage all directed at the tiny wriggling mammal. She could see the human in its eyes, the pointed face so much like his human form it was no wonder such a feeble wizard was able to accomplish the difficult feat of the Animagi transformation. He was merely turning into his truer form. Remus had to keep a tight grip on Arabella's arm to stop her scrambling for the animal, a jerk in her motion being halted by his hand as bitter tasting air seeped out from between her lips.

'Pettigrew,' she hissed.

Lucy could indeed feel her sister suddenly tense up, a feeling taking over the body of the witness like Lucy had only seen at one time before. The morning of her kidnap, the day it started for her. Claudia had returned from the town convinced her torturer was on her tail and wanted her sister to protect her from it. But Lucy hadn't believed her. More like she didn't want to believe her. It occurred to Lucy now that she always knew it was the truth, deep down in the depths of her soul. Now she just regretted that she had never listened.

Dumbledore had acted quickly and quietly. He drew his wand up into the air and arched it down with ease, the silver trails left behind merging together to produce a metallic cage he now encouraged Ron to but the animal into. Ron complied, shut the door of the tiny prison and locked it with both padlock and wand. Pettigrew's rat-like form was now fully aware of his circumstance and stood trembling like a leaf in the corner. He knew the game was up. Just proof of his continued living would have been enough to get Sirius off the hook. There was an air of utter injustice. But now Mr Ollivander was frowning.

'Mr Potter…' he said as the frown deepened upon his forehead. 'You said the Dark Lord ordered Mr Pettigrew to kill you, and he couldn't, correct? Because of the life debt, we think? Hmm?' Harry simply nodded. He had no idea what the ancient wand maker was getting at, and Mr Ollivander sensed it. He expanded on his concept. 'A thought just struck me, after all. Mr Pettigrew, if he existed in this form for all those years, would hardly be able to carry his wand around with him, would he? And if that were the case, then what did he use to attack you? It is extremely difficult to perform a curse as powerful as Avada Kedavra without one's own wand. You form a bond with your wand and that's what makes it effective. That first swipe you make back at the shop connects you with your instrument on a magical plain us earth dwellers cannot comprehend. You could start off with a second hand wand, but unless it was replaced with your own you could never live up to your potential. Wizards invest a lot into their instruments. Your wand carries your signature and can only reach its full ability if used by you alone. Just a curious point, that's all…'

There was a gasp. Claudia, standing at the foot of the bed with her sister observing the scene, had raised one delicate hand to her mouth and allowed her fingertips to trace to contours of her own white-like face. Her eyes were wide and glowing in the morning light like beacons brining the ship into shore. She looked as if everything had just fallen into place.

'Ms Darlington,' said Dumbledore softly, 'What is it?'

Claudia didn't answer, but merely delved into her own pocket just like Ron had done before and pulled out the object that was bothering her. The wand. She pulled it out and twirled it like a majorette over the top of her fingers, not concentrating at all but still maintaining her pale complexion. She spoke directly to the Headmaster.

'I've had this ever since the accident. I haven't the faintest why. Someone on the scene must have thought it belonged to me, because the first time I found it was when I woke up back in the hospital. It's just been something that's always there. It's almost been like a security blanket, some sort of item that's reassured me. I never truly realised what it was until last night.' She held it out for Dumbledore to take, which he did, turning it over in his hands before handing it over to Mr Ollivander.

'I found it in her room,' added Ron, still failing to let the sin of pride be etched into his features with the absence of the freckles. 'I was about to come down and tell you but that's when Sirius arrived and…' he trailed off at the memories that came surging fresh into his mind. He shivered.

'Can you tell whose it is?' asked Arabella with an increasing air of curiosity. 'Can you tell us?'

Ollivander examined his work, sliding his finger up and down the wand and muttering to himself a few times, uttering the dimensions of the instrument out loud. He sighed. 'Eight inches. Scott Pine. Unicorn hair.' He looked up. 'Only one way to confirm it. Priori Incantato Infinite!'

The wand screamed in terror and them settled in Mr Ollivander's hand as the regurgitating of spells began. Slowly, the shield charm Claudia had cast oozed out of the wand's tip, falling to earth in a shower of stars that gradually faded into the floor of the infirmary. Then out of the tip emerged a lone finger, a little short and stubby without its accompanying limb, which made Lucy jump back as it plopped unto the floor as the starts began to vanish. Then the images produced seemed to increase with intensity. A piercing scream caused the windows to rattle was pitched high into the air. Claudia flinched. The accident. The wand emitted further cries of pain and anguish, wisp-like ghosts emerging from the tip of the wand as those who lost their lives that day made a brief series of appearances. It was their faces that struck Harry most at this moment: confused, baffled, as if the carpet had been tugged from beneath their feet as everything they were told turned out to be untrue. In among the noise, he could pick out Claudia's own scream. He felt sick again as magical dust covered the scene like it had the quad all those years ago…

'Finite Incantatem!'

They all looked up, their eyes glazed over in expectation as Mr Ollivander rose wearily to address them again.

'It is just as I suspected.' He said. 'I remember this wand. Not that powerful, a little weak in mind. But with the right manipulation and unexpected events this wand, like it's owner, could be an expert in taking advantage. This wand belongs to Peter Pettigrew. He did the Covent Garden murders. Sirius Black was innocent. The Ministry won't like this at all…'

'The Ministry?!?' stormed Harry, now leaping to his feet as anger finally overtook him. 'I don't care what the Ministry thinks! They're the ones with the blood on their hands! They're the ones that never gave Sirius a chance to clear his name at trial! They're the ones who should be blamed for this whole sorry mess! They're… they're…'

At this point, Remus dashed round the side of the bed and clamped his hands on Harry's elbows to calm the hysterical boy, who was shaking as much as Arabella. The injustice had been the final straw. Harry had had enough.

'Harry,' said Remus in a harsh stage whisper, 'listen to me, and listen carefully. We're not going to get through this by blaming the bureaucracy. Don't you think this is what Lord Voldemort wants? For us to get enraged and split amongst ourselves so they'll be no defence in the fight? Of course he does, and we can't allow him to have that. The Ministry will have to believe us now. Ron and Sirius through their individual acts have awarded us the proof we need to get the Ministry on side. It's proof that the dark is rising. And together we can pray that it will be enough to defeat it. We have to keep the faith, remember?'

Harry looked up into the watery blue eyes of one of his father's oldest friends and felt his own well up with tears. He sighed. 'Keep the faith.'

Dumbledore picked up the cage with a snap, tucking the offending rodent under his arm and looking as stern as Harry could remember when faced with the fake Mad-Eye Moody. Wormtail squeaked madly but was for once totally ignored.

'I'm going to take Mr Pettigrew back to my office and alert the Ministry about last night.' He said, his voice full of controlled intent. He fixed his eyes on the group. 'I expect they'll want to talk to all of you at some point, especially you, Ms Darlington. We need to make it clear to them exactly what we're facing, and I have immense faith in you all that you will be able to put that across. Now I urge you all to sleep. Beds have been made up for you in the Gryffindor tower with ample chocolate supplies courtesy of Madam Pomfrey. Remus, if you'll do the honours…'

'Certainly, Headmaster,' Remus replied as he gently tugged on Harry's arm with great pain on his face. 'Come on. We can all come back later. We can't do anything more.'

And Harry let himself be gently pulled away as the others began to file out of the Hogwarts infirmary, Claudia now gripped Lucy's arm with her head hung low in sorrow. She was merely expressing what deep down they all believed they felt. Loss. Harry was the last to leave, casting a quick glance over his shoulder at Dumbledore and Mr Ollivander, who were standing at the bedside with their heads hung as low as the rest. They felt it too. And Harry knew in that instant it would be a feeling he would never forget. If anything was going to spur him on to fight, it was the desire not to feel this pain again. He'd already lost so much, and what he still had hold of him was what made him his own. What created Harry Potter. And he'd just about give them up as willingly as he would his soul. He looked at the corpse again.

'Goodnight, Sirius.'

And then they were gone.

***

A/N: THAT'S NOT THE END!!! Sorry to do this, but I've spilt the explanation up otherwise it was getting to stupid lengths. There is more to it and a couple of interesting revelations and events so come, so just hold on tight and the roller-coaster will come to the top of the climb…


	14. Deliverance

A/N: Hey people

A/N: Hey people! Last chapter before the Epilogue! Whoo hoo! Well done to Giesbrecht for spotting the Shakespeare quote in the last part. If you haven't found it, then go take a peek! But for now, this is just some more consolidation and coming to terms with bits and bobs before something wonderful happens to show that there is occasionally a bit of justice in the world. Honest. Read and review, Ta!

Dis: I own the unknown witness and her associates. JKR owns the rest and the concept the witness was witness to. Other bodies own others bits so please don't sue me because I haven't got any money to sue you back. Or even to be sued in the first place. I said it wasn't mine already, all right? Good. On with the fic.

****

The Unknown Witness

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Deliverance

A day and a night of solid, undisturbed sleep, and they were prepared to face the world. The following morning, sombreness seemed to be the order of the day. They all ate in the great hall, McGonagall and Dumbledore being the only teachers left and so joining them at the Gryffindor table. Lucy had gasped at the sight of the ceiling, the dawn having broken across it in a great blaze of light that seemed to energise the air as it spread. She'd even made to grab for Claudia to point out the glorious wonder but stopped, a habit of a lifetime still not broken after fourteen years as instead she helped guide Claudia to her seat and her hash browns beyond. Breakfast was served. 

Harry, Ron and Hermione were next to trudge into the meal, all half-asleep from their first complete rest for days. An owl had already been dispatched to the Granger household explaining their daughter's location and some attempt at circumstance. Hermione had the feeling that they were better off without the truth. Arabella and Remus followed shortly afterwards, the ex-Auror immediately enticing the Headmaster and his deputy into a lengthy conversation as to the current state of play. Hermione, however, after pouring herself shakily a glass of pumpkin juice, looked left and right then leaned over the table to congress quietly to Harry.

'Are you all right?' she said.

Harry stirred his Cornflakes absently. 'Yeah,' he muttered. 'Yeah I'm fine.'

Hermione did not look at all convinced. The colour was yet to return to her face despite the longest sleep any of them had ever encountered in their lives. No one was feeling refreshed, simply a little less bogged down by events but still crippled nevertheless. Ron sighed wearily and put down his spoon.

'Harry,' Hermione continued. 'You're allowed to not be all right. It's perfectly natural for you not to be all right. Actually, we were kind of expecting it.' She lowered her voice to a whisper, as if the truth was too harsh to speak. 'The other day happened to us all. I know I'm falling apart. Despite what Dumbledore says, I keep thinking of all the what ifs. What if things went differently, what could I have done to stop all this? Would it be one of us underneath that sheet or was Sirius' fate already set?' She shuddered in a breath. 'The thing is we'll never know. And as long as we don't know, we'll never be all right. So it's OK, Harry. It's us.' 

Ron looked up solemnly too and Harry got the feeling this conversation was slightly planned.

'You don't have to do the invincible act,' he continued. 'We won't be expecting it. It'll be hard, but we'll get through it. I'm actually with Hagrid on this one. As long as we've got Dumbledore, I think we'll be in good hands.'

Harry smiled a little, the expression strange upon his grieving face. He knew Sirius would have liked to see it. 

The conversation continued in mediocre tones, a little strained in order to gain a vague attempt at normality. Quidditch prospects in the upcoming year. The looming threat of the OWLs. Hermione's extra credit homework assignments. These usual topics of conversation were spoken with as much effort as they could muster, anything to avoid the memory of the body that lay up in the infirmary in state. In the end it just became an exercise in pushing their food around the plates. Nothing could be consumed. Nothing except the guilt. But even that was put briefly on the back burner via a passing comment by Ron, who was looking around the room absently and the house tables in particular.

'Its' strange being here in the summer,' he said, his spoon still failing to be risen to his mouth. However, the level of Cornflakes in his bowl remained constant. 'No one else around. No Ravenclaws squabbling over their homework or Hufflepuffs drowning their sorrows after we totally wiped the floor with them at Quidditch. No Fred and George attempting to blow up a toilet seat or something. It even seems odd without Malfoy trying to get us all in….'

He stopped mid sentence as the most urgent topic of discussion was inadvertently breached. He drew in a sharp breath as Harry and Hermione exchanged glances, and they all proceeded to dive in headfirst.

'Draco Malfoy…' said Ron, extracting his friend's thoughts and putting them into words as he raised his eyebrows skyward. 'Now what was all that about?'

Hermione frowned herself. 'I'm not entirely sure if it was even him…'

'It was,' said Harry sternly to address his companion's doubt. 'I saw him with my own two eyes. I'd recognise that smirk anywhere.'

'But what was he trying to do?' squeaked Hermione a little unusually, 'What was he hoping to accomplish by helping us? I really can't see what's in it for him. It's going against everything he believes in, everything he's probably been raised by… Oh why didn't Moody leave him as a ferret? It would have made life a whole lot simpler…'

'Hermione!' exclaimed Ron, looking a little shocked. 'You're beginning to sound like me!' 

'Now I'm getting worried.' chipped in Harry.

'Times change, Ron,' she snapped. 'But that doesn't alter the issue. Either Draco's suddenly turned double agent or he's getting too clever for his own good.'

'I'd go with the latter,' said Harry quickly. 'I don't trust that white-haired rodent one bit. It wouldn't surprise me if all that was just a joke. Something to make us think he was on our side so he could just twist us all round his little finger and snap us when the right mood takes him.'

'I'll second that…' was Ron's response. Hermione remained tight-lipped. 'He's a Slytherin through and through. Ambitious. Devious… He'll do anything to get what he wants. That's in plenty of evidence even without the Hippogriffs. I just can't bring myself to trust him.'

'But there's always the possibility that he's finally found a rebellious streak,' reasoned Hermione as an after-thought. 'And for once he's putting it to good use. You never know.' She smirked a little. 'Miracles have happened.'

'Not here, I think,' Harry said with a sudden sombreness, his emerald eyes now firmly downcast. 'I still think Malfoy's out for number one. That this is just one big giant stunt. He'll probably come back next term and swagger up to us expecting we'll worship the ground he walks on. Cunning as a fox. It's just all too out of character. He was a Slytherin when he was eleven and I doubt he's had a personality change overnight. And I'll…'

But here Harry was forced to stop, his words standing stock-still in the air as he felt his face flash guiltily as he met the gaze of Remus. He had become detached from his conversation with Arabella and Dumbledore and now turned to face the next generation, obviously distressed at their topic of discussion. He turned to address them sternly.

'Harry,' he said with the air of a wise old relative, which Harry in fact supposed he was. 'What personality traits that are so prominent when you're eleven years old and sitting on a stool in front of the whole school cannot dictate your future path. One of the many sad things You-Know-Who has bestowed on this world is a greater sense of division. There was a time when a Slytherin wouldn't be slandered just because of what he was as a child. Like Hermione said, people change.'

'But Professor,' protested Ron, the stern look on Remus' face softening for an instant through this honourable address. 'This is Malfoy we're talking about. Draco Malfoy. The kid who has spent the past four years calling Hermione a mudblood, getting knuckle sandwiches from me and now should be gearing himself up for a life of the dark arts. Are you trying to tell us he's had a personality transplant overnight?'

Remus' face swiftly changed to its original state as he addressed the three of them. 'Have any of you actually held a conversation of length with young Mr Malfoy?'

They all shook their heads guiltily. Harry frowned at the prospect. Why would they want to talk to that scumbag anyway, even if he had saved their lives? Remus obviously caught his thought and spoke to him personally.

'In that case, I don't think you can claim to know him, let alone understand him and predict his next move. Think about where he comes from. Think of his father. You saw him in the cell. With that huge brute of a man hanging over his every step, do you suppose he gets to show his true colours that often?'

'But he's a Slytherin!' Ron continued to protest with a hiss. 'And everyone knows all the dark wizards always come from that house…'

'And Peter Pettigrew was a Gryffindor, Ron. Rules are there to be broken. Peter's nerve and daring, although so deeply hidden, was used to stride into the shadows and fight for the dark in defiance of his friends. A Slytherin's ambition is not a bad trait to maintain. Not all ambition turns to greed and evil. The best people in this world can harness the most negative traits and use them for the greatest of good. Maybe our friend Draco has chosen the honourable path. We can only hope.'

'Rebellion in the ranks, you reckon?'

Remus smiled. 'Maybe. Just maybe. We've go to have something to be optimistic about in this day and age. That was always James' department, the optimism. Mr Malfoy may be playing our bluff. He may be fighting a genuine cause, which if that is the case I honestly suspect, he deserves the highest form of praise we can bestow upon the boy. We are fighting the same foe, and people who choose to fight it alone have certainly chosen a difficult path. But,' he continued, addressing the three of them as if they were back inside his classroom, 'I suggest you leave Malfoy to his own devices. If it is genuine then we don't need to blow his cover. If not then we don't want you all to fall into his trap. We need normality in the madness, I can assure you. And if that means you lot are all at each other's throats then so be it.' He winked. 'I think we'll need the entertainment.'

And then he turned back to his conversation with Arabella, a deep scowl of concentration erupting on his forehead as they spoke in hushed tones. Hermione looked straight back at Harry.

'So' said Hermione, looking at her cereal intently, 'Are you all right?'

'No,' Harry replied, shaking his head a little with the notion and the insistence of his friends. He blinked heavily and looked up at them, his face set in a form of determination that Harry felt had never been so present on his features ever before. He smiled a little to himself as the words of Hagrid last term suddenly came to him. He sighed. 'But I will be.'

***

Claudia held onto Lucy through the crook of her arm as she breathed in a lung full of the cleanest air she'd ever encountered in her life. The birds were singing now their midday song, slightly muffled from a wood beyond the shore of the lake as the water gently lapped at the banks and calmed the scene with its tranquil sounds. It was peaceful.

Not for the first time in fourteen years, Claudia found herself wishing to be able to match the sounds with the image, to see the sight that went with the sound. Her heightened senses could pick up a pin drop, but would never see it hit the ground and spin lightly as it did, light occasionally catching on its silver spine in a delicate dance of gravity. Everything out here was so alive, so buzzing with excitement at the pure essence of being it was as if the air was electric with magic. It amazed her. 

Claudia's hash browns were more settled in her stomach now, her breakfast hard to cope with in light of what went on before. How much her life had changed within a space of a week. Nothing would be the same. She wasn't sure if she wanted it any different. If anything, the last week had been a metaphorical eye-opener for the struggling writer who was stuck in a boring nine to five job that was killing her with its effort of surviving day to day. She was fed up of following the flow. She wanted to fight back.

'So what do you think?' asked Lucy innocently. Claudia smiled.

'It's the most beautiful place I never saw.'

They sunk into silence again as their individual thoughts engulfed them. So much had happened between them that nothing really needed to be put into words. It was all said and done. Lucy gazed across the lake, the water sparkling in the late morning sun, the occasional tentacle of the squid emerging form the depths to lap up this new found warmth. Yet she shivered. She didn't feel at one with it all, the whole concept, the magic. She didn't feel a part of it. Claudia didn't even raise an eyebrow at the phenomena all around her, as if she already knew of its existence and was totally prepared to co-operate with it. But all Lucy wanted was to go home and forget about it all. She just wanted to see Paul again. She was missing him more than ever, a dull ache sitting upon her chest like the knife that had robbed Sirius of life, draining her soul by the fact she wasn't able to share her fears with him. She had Claudia, yes, but they were on completely different plains. They were worlds apart. She sighed again.

'So what's the plan now? For us two, I mean?' Claudia's lack of response sent her sister stuttering for words. She coughed awkwardly and look at her intensely. 'W-Where do we go from here?'

Claudia kept her inner eye fixed on the water ahead, not moving at all as she answered. 'Dumbledore spoke to me earlier. He said the Ministry will want to talk to me too. They'll want to have a statement, for Pettigrew's trial. He'll think they'll be in contact within a week. He suggested I stayed here for the duration.' She paused again and sighed. 'I don't think I'd want to be anywhere else.'

'Claudia?' Lucy whispered, almost timid of her own words. 'I just want to go home.'

Claudia didn't make an effort to reply, but merely turned her head to listen.

'This isn't my world, Claudia.' Lucy continued, 'This isn't part of me. I'm as dull as ditch water, the suburban housewife with a long distance husband and a dishwasher that likes to break down every five months on demand. I like my world. I like my Rochester. I just want things to go back to the way it was.' She drew in a sharp breath. 'I don't want to have the nightmares.'

'Nightmares?' Claudia frowned.

'Like you. All those nights you'd wake up screaming, yelling the house down as you remembered the accident. All that stuff you told me being true, I just don't think I could cope with it. I'm barely hanging on now. I don't want to be waking up in a cold sweat too and have to cover it all up with lies. I don't want to lie to Paul. I tell him everything. And if I can no longer do that, then I just want to forget it.'

Claudia opened her mouth to begin to protest, but knew it wouldn't do any good. Her sister was a stubborn soul. And if a life of denial was exactly what she wanted, she was aware there was nothing she could so about it. She sighed instead and turned back to the lakeshore. 'You'll have to take a memory charm. Like they wanted to do to me after the accident. You won't remember a thing, literally. It'll just be a big, huge blank.' She reached out for her sister's hand and took it. 'It won't be easy, you know.'

'I have the will power.' was the simple, subdued reply.

Silence washed over them again. The song of the birds died down to a minimum as the breeze suddenly shook the trees, their leaves rustling together like a wave crashing into the shore, wiping away the tide mark to create a fictional one from the debris of the sea. Lucy removed her hand from Claudia's and lay back in the grass, closing her own eyes and allowing the warmth of the fresh new sun to totally envelop her face in a vague attempt at contentment. She had decided her fate. She wouldn't have to live with this any longer. After the trial, when it was over, she'd be free.

'This really is a beautiful place, Claudia,' she said, her eyes open again and watching the clouds roll slowly by above them. 'Trees, lake, the castle behind us. They've even got mountains, would you believe. It's breathtaking. How they keep it hidden from us is a mystery.' He closed her eyes again and sighed wearily. 'I just wish just for a moment you could…'

'Could what?'

But Lucy didn't answer. She sat bolt up right, looking electrified as a flash of miraculous inspiration crossed her face as she began to struggle to her feet, muttering something to herself as she rose. She could barely maintain control upon her natural reserve. She was almost squealing with delight.

'Of course!' she yelled, the echo of her shout bouncing off the walls of the castle behind even causing a flock of birds to flee their sanctuary in the forbidden forest beyond. 'Of course! Why didn't we think if it earlier? It must be possible somehow, he said so, the others must know, and…'

'Lucy,' said Claudia, smiling a little at her sister's unusual outburst. 'What on earth are you talking about?'

'Come on,' she replied, grabbing Claudia by her wrist and dragging her back to her feet. 'We have to go and find Dumbledore…'

'But why?' she now begged of Lucy. 

'To get your compensation.' she said.

***

Harry was back in Dumbledore's office. It was full of the brilliant light of day, the rays coming in through the open window and bouncing off the glass fronted cabinets. Within them, the stirring waters of the Headmaster's pensieve slowly revolved in the deep set bowl and proved for once to be no temptation to the shattered fifteen year-old, both in body and also in mind. Dumbledore had asked to see him at midday, and that was how Harry found himself sitting anxiously in the large circular room, having easily guessed the password of 'Curly Whirly' from his knowledge of muggle confectionery after years of watching Dudley constantly consume them. 

Fawkes the phoenix looked particularly spectacular with his fresh red plumage, the feathers glossy and bright as he stretched his wings to tuck his head under them, quietly putting down for a snooze. Harry had had enough of sleep. It was time to face the light of day. 

He got out of his chair and wandered absently over the window, widely open t let in the fresh summer air that seemed so inappropriate to the current mood of gloom. He could see the lake from here, the squid bathing itself in the warmth of day as two figures watched on, Harry guessing Lucy and Claudia by the way they were holing themselves and their colouring from a distance. Lucy looked a little on edge, still in awe at the beauty around her but looking as if the slightest noise would send her toppling over. Claudia looked indifferent, settled even. Peaceful. They got up silently and quickly moved away, walking back towards the castle and the entrance below Harry's feet.

A few minutes passed, and Harry continued to watch as nature moved in perfect symmetry as if nothing at all had changed, that nothing in its make-up was missing. Least of all the dog. Then a few other figures Harry didn't recognise shrouded in Ministry robes scuttled across the scene. They were huddled together like a collection of gossiping schoolgirls, carrying a darkened package between them tenderly like a bomb that was about to explode. Pettigrew, he thought. Justice had finally been served. But then the door to the office suddenly opened and shut just as swiftly in a second as another body entered the room.

'Hello, Harry,' came a voice from somewhere far behind. 'I think I owe you an apology.'

Dumbledore was now striding across the room with his hands tucked solemnly behind his back and his head firmly focused on his toes. He wandered over to his desk and sat down opposite Harry, a million woes escaping with him as he settled into his chair and scratched his chin absently. Harry didn't utter a word, as he didn't know where the old man was truly coming from. Dumbledore fixed him with an ice blue gaze.

'Harry,' he began slowly and deliberately, 'Everyone makes mistakes. That's exactly what makes us human, whether we're muggles, wizards or something completely different. Everyone is fallible, least of all myself. I feel I've let you down.'

'Let me down?'

'Yes, Harry, you. You see, it has come to my attention that you aren't a child any more. You are not the baby I left in a basket or even the boy who escaped the Dark Lord's wrath merely weeks ago. You are rapidly becoming a young adult. But in a moment of blindness, of sheer and undisputed misjudgement, I refused to realise this factor. I still treated you like the child you had already proved you had left far behind in the past. I made a mistake that in the circumstances has proved to be fatal.'

Harry looked horrified. 'But Sir…'

'Let me finish. I am aware of my own advice. That no one is to blame for Sirius' death. Like you all I try to take solace in that but this time round I find it particularly hard to stomach. The reason you all went on this honourable crusade was because I deprived you of the information. I never told you about the Phoenix until it was forced out of me, even though I was fully aware of your position in our ranks. I never told you about Arabella, or the protection I placed on Privet Drive for all the time you are in the care of Hogwarts, and - if necessary - beyond. I now know that there will be nothing I can do to stop you. I do not want to stop you, Harry. It was stopping you from doing what you do best that did more harm than good for this situation.' He sighed and looked more tired than Harry had ever seen him. It unnerved him a little. 'I forget how much you are your father's son, ever curious, not satisfied with the 'you'll understand when you're old enough' line. You want to understand now. You see with your mother's eyes. You want to help. And I have no intention of stopping you.'

Harry sat in silence for a second, merely looking at Dumbledore who was looking straight back, his face expressionless and unblinking. Harry let the words sink in before he spoke.

'So what does this mean?' he asked quietly, 'What's going to happen now?'

The Headmaster smiled a little. 'Do you remember, after you saved the Philosopher's stone, I told you something about the truth? That it was a beautiful and terrible thing?' Harry nodded. 'Well, I think it's time that you saw the horrors of reality. I can't keep you sheltered from the dark. It is coming and we either face it as a group or not face it at all. You have suffered enough at the hands of the truth to understand all sides of its nature. If you feel the need to question, do not hesitate to ask. I will always intend to answer.' He stood up and wandered over to the window and gazed out across the grounds before looking at Harry over his shoulder. 'I'm here for you, should you ever need me.' 

'Thank you.'

Harry took that as a cue to leave. He raised himself with effort from his chair with all intent and purpose to seek solution with Ron and Hermione when a thought struck him afresh, a little tentative in its approach but brimming over with its necessity. Harry had to be practical now.

'What are we going to do?' he asked timidly, 'About everything… About Sirius?'

Dumbledore's face became set rigid again. 'The ministry special squad collected Mr Pettigrew this morning. I was finally able to prove his existence to them, and the trial is set for a couple of weeks. Sirius is as good as free,' he bowed his head. 'We need to give him the proper rites. Let him have the eternal peace the man now thoroughly deserves. He loved you like a son, Harry. I think it should be down to you.'

Harry took a deep shivering breath. 'He needs to be with his friends. Take him to my parents. They should be buried side by side. Marauders forever.'

Dumbledore frowned. 'Buried?'

'Next to the graves of my parents, I mean…' Harry said quietly confused, stuttering a little in the Headmaster's stare and feeling as if he said something wrong. But then a thought struck him new and he couldn't help but air it. 'Where are they buried, Sir?'

At this, Dumbledore gave himself a sort of smile, almost lopsided as if the emotion shouldn't be allowed but something Harry said seemed to amuse him. He had to restrain himself from a chuckle. 'Oh my dear boy,' he said, 'I forget how much you are in ignorance of. And I believe my new policy sets out to reward you the truth, so be it. Your parents were never buried. They were set free.'

It was Harry's turn to frown. 'What do you mean?' 

'The Wizarding world is similar to that of the Muggles in many respects, Harry,' he replied, the smallest of twinkles present behind his moon shaped glasses. 'But this is certainly a point for difference. For us, there is no dignity in being buried, being trapped beneath the ground for a thousand years as like our life spans, our bodies cannot decay in such a manner. Grave yards and coffins simply will not do. Wizards and witches belong with the wind. In death, they deserve to be free.'

Harry felt a lump begin to develop in his throat as Dumbledore moved onto the inevitable. A place where he wasn't present. A place he of all people should have been. A place where he could have said goodbye. His parent's own funeral.

'Fourteen years ago,' Dumbledore began slowly, 'we had the same debate regarding your parents. They were either to be buried like muggles at your Aunt's reluctant request, or removed from their physical presence on earth in the usual, Wizarding way. Your Aunt and her husband wanted as much to do with your mother in life as she did in death, so your parents were given the departure they truly, truly deserved. I did request your presence at the pyre, but your new Guardians forcefully declined.'

'The pyre?'

'Yes, Harry, the pyre. If there is one certainty in the world of magic, it is that it is found all around us. We are all one with nature, and it is magic that binds us to it. Like a man to his wand, as it were. And for that cycle to continue and the binds of life to be maintained, the magic that concentrates itself in the bodies and blood of wizards needs to be released. And only the process of flames will do that.' Harry still looked a little taken back, but Dumbledore leaned forward to continue the address as enlightenment began to dawn on the young man's face. 'Raw, unattended fire has amazing, magical qualities, Harry. For it is the only substance on earth that can release magic from our bodies. Of course muggles were aware of this fact and put it to full use in the witch hunts of the middle ages, although not many witches became victims of that particular misjudgement. Never underestimate the usefulness of a flame freezing charm…' He waved his hand across his face, 'But I digress. We have to release our magic back into nature to ensure its continued existence. We may not know what happens to our souls once we depart from the land of the living, but at least we know what happens to our magic. Nature gives others the chance. Nature gives magic back.'

There was a silence for a while as the cogs in Harry's brain clicked everything into place. He blinked heavily as it sunk in. 'You mean the muggle-borns. Like Hermione…'

Dumbledore nodded. 'The wonders of magic are endless, Harry. It gives people a chance. It sees people like young Miss Granger as worthy of its opportunities and did not hesitate in awarding her that chance. And for people like your parents to leave their physical presence in such a way for such a cause, it is honourable beyond words.'

Harry sighed. 'Then Sirius would want to do the same.'

'I think he would, Harry,' Dumbledore replied. 'I really think he would.'

They sat in silence for a minute or so, Dumbledore examining an instrument on his desk that proceeded to omit great puffs of pink smoke as Harry swallowed down his thoughts, the greyness reappearing in his face as the reality of death settled over his head like storm cloud. He couldn't avoid it now. His parents, the Muggle, Cedric, now Sirius. The approach was on the rise. He'd just have to do the best he could to cope with it. Dark days ahead, as Dumbledore had said. But he knew the light beyond it was inciting.

'Excuse me, Headmaster?'

Neither of them had noticed Mrs Weasley making her sly approach into the room, lurking on the threshold as if she wasn't sure her presence was wanted or necessary. But there was something different about her, a new hope twinkling in her eyes that made Harry's heart leap without effort as he turned to meet her gaze. She'd obviously been running.

'Sorry to disturb you, Professor, Harry, but I really think you should come up to the Gryffindor tower…'

'Why Molly,' said Dumbledore, a little confused. 'What on earth's the matter?'

'It's Claudia,' she said breathlessly, 'She thinks there's a way to get her sight back.'

***

Exactly an hour later, Hermione was back in her element. She sat in a corner of the library, a particularly large, ominous volume open on her lap as her other hand occasionally reached for a chocolate frog supplied as always by Ron, whose secret stash of the sugary confectionery seemed to be endless. Other books were piled around her, dusty pages bound beneath the covers that held all the secrets and solutions a witch would ever need. But whether it could satisfy the appetite of a Miss Hermione Granger would be a completely different topic of debate.

Voldemort, for once, had been telling the truth. There was a way for Claudia to get her sight back. He said the only ritual he could think of hadn't been attempted for years, the words of its incantation long forgotten, and its location a complete mystery. Hence the search. Hermione had immediately pledged to raft through the library's medical section whilst Dumbledore sat in his office with Madam Pomfrey's private collection, her eyes lighting up at the fact that for the first time in what felt like weeks, she could finally do something. Be something of a help. She thrived on a challenge that for once didn't seem so impossible. At least this had a chance of success.

Claudia was back in the infirmary under the watchful eye of Remus and Arabella, whilst Madam Pomfrey prepared the witness for the possibilities of the night ahead. A groundwork had to be laid. Harry meanwhile was pouring over the deepening texts with Ron and Hermione, seeking solace in the words as his desperation to help was just as paramount. He may not have seemed at all happier, but Hermione could see he was more settled. The first step on the road to moving on. The mourning wouldn't be over in a day, Hermione was fully aware. She felt it herself in her heart. Something had died in herself that day. Sirius had been in effect a Godfather to them all.

Ron didn't feel a thing. He felt numb, completely out of his body, as if he'd been watching the past couple of days as a spirit floating above himself, everything a dream, a non-reality. He couldn't for the life of him out all that into words. He'd done things in the last few days his brain was yet to acknowledge yet. He'd taken the wand. He'd knocked out Malfoy. He'd faced Voldemort, the glowing face of that creation of the devil to haunt his memory like a ghost forever. Something inside him had changed. He'd grown. He didn't feel a boy anymore. He'd seen life and death in the very same instant and wasn't going to ever forget it. He didn't feel like a man either. He found himself occupying some space in between, a sort of personal limbo where his freckles evaporated but his hands remained gangly to his body, his shoulders overlarge compared to the rest but still making him irresistibly Ron. He was more than a Weasley. He was Ron. He'd done something. He would do more again. Sirius was gone, but somehow he knew there was nothing he could do about that, it was set in the fates. Moving on was to be an option, and one he would gladly accept. But he'd never, ever forget. No one would. But with a flicker of smile thrown in his direction by Hermione as she glanced up from her book, he knew it had at some level, some place he was yet to discover, that in the end it had been worth it.

Harry stretched out his toes. He was tired. He'd already slept for a night and a day, but within just hours of rising from his bed up in the Gryffindor Tower, he felt ready to hit the sack again. He was worn out beyond the words. But at least he felt at peace. Dumbledore had seen to that. The people he loved most, dead and alive, were with him. He could feel it. And in the face of the darkness, he thought it was all he'd ever need. And somehow he already knew that he'd have been right.

Hermione sat up a little, suddenly focusing on the book she had propped up against the table edge and began to read with a strange velocity as if the text would slip off the page if she didn't give it her full attention. She muttered its words under her breath, nodding to herself, before looking up at her two best friends and providing the answers they knew she'd never fail to deliver.

'Got it,' she said with an air of breathtaking modesty. 'This has got to be it. It's a sensory restorative ritual, so just a few adaptations and it should give us what we need, what Claudia needs, in fact.'

'What does it involve?' questioned Harry immediately, feeling a strange sense of urgency now enter his softened voice.

'A verse like incantation. It's about as close to necromancy as a normal wizard can get.'

'Necromancy?' Ron frowned. 'Calling on the dead? That doesn't exactly sound promising…'

'Under normal circumstances, certainly,' Hermione agreed vigorously, 'But as long as it's powerfully controlled, this should be all right. It involves calling on a willing spirit, an active spirit, say less that six months to a year departed, and asking them to hand back their senses. Sprits have no need of them, they can function perfectly well without them. Better even, less distracting. Momentary spiritual possession, I think, but I can't tell, exactly. There's no account of it being used, merely the spell itself. This is written in Middle English and is very hard to make out. Dumbledore will know, I'm sure. Mr Ollivander for certain. They'll both know exactly what it says.' She dog-eared the relevant page and slammed the book shut with a thump. 'We'll need a couple of hours to prepare I think, as long as the Headmaster agrees to it…' 

'Are there any risks?' asked Ron again with an air of tight concern. 'I mean, possession? Could…' he coughed awkwardly, 'could she die?'

Hermione didn't answer, but merely looked tight-lipped. Instead she rose from her seat and grasped the book to her chest like a beloved childhood toy, warm, reassuring, always there and always reliable. Always, she thought, now she hoped.

'Let's take this up to the infirmary,' she said, avoiding Harry's eye, 'We need to get this started.'

***

Claudia had been sitting up in the infirmary all day, invisible people bustling around her, tidying around her virtually not noticing her presence. Remus, Arabella, Madam Pomfrey, even Lucy: they were all in their own little worlds, keeping her comfortable and keeping speech to a minimum as they waited news from the researchers below. It was peaceful. She didn't mind. She actually liked it. The idea of not being noticed, of not being seen: It was appealing. It was as if the world for her was finally two-way. Everything was not to be seen. She wasn't the only one in self-imposed isolation. For once, she didn't feel alone.

The thought of being able to see the world by the time the sunset came to pass was a feeling of anticipation Claudia had never felt before. She was tingling at it right now, the idea of colour, of shape and substance the ability to see the set and appreciate nature to its fullest became the strongest desire she'd ever felt. She'd gain her independence again. She'd be able to start afresh, move out of Medway, get back to the city and the people she missed the most. The new people. The people she hadn't met yet, the potential flat mate, business partner, friend. Love of a lifetime even, all the people in herself she'd been scared to go out and find. The people presented to her merely as a voice and without a face could be anyone and anything. She would, in her own mind, be free.

By the time Harry, Ron, Hermione and Dumbledore had arrived in early evening, the sky outside had darkened to a deep shade of blood red, as if the liquid of human life itself was seeping across the clouds, tainting it even as the night began its approach. Claudia knew they were coming even before they reached the door. She could feel their footsteps down the hall, small, measured, unsure. Her heart panged with hope as the door swung open and they entered. But she didn't need to question. Somehow she already knew.

'It can be done, can't it?'

Dumbledore nodded. 'Yes, Claudia, it appears that it can. But there are many things you need to understand before I'll permit this to go ahead. You need to know what's going to happen to you. You need to understand why it's going to happen in this way. And how all this happened in the first place.' 

She simply nodded and allowed the Headmaster to continue.

'We don't know exactly what spell was cast upon fourteen years ago. We only know its effects. Magical damage of such a manner can transfer a limited amount of magical residue to the person unfortunately inflicted. You have magic in you Claudia. It gives you a limited ability, most prominent in time of extreme emotion. Fear, anguish, terror. What you need to understand is that even if this ritual works, if we can get you your sight back, that residual magic will remain. You yourself unfortunately do not have the concentration to operate like a normal witch or wizard. You are in a league of your own. But I must be honest with you as this is a serious consideration. With such magic in your veins, although artificially placed, will make the likelihood of a magical child much more of a possibility.'

Much to Harry's astonishment, Claudia showed little reaction. She merely nodded her head in acknowledgement as Lucy looked on wide-eyed.

'I know,' she said quietly, showing no sign of surprise. 'I think I've always known.'

'The glass…' Lucy muttered, thunderstruck, 'The dreams and everything… this explains it all…' 

'Indeed,' said Dumbledore, 'That is our most educated guess. But there are dangers I still need to explain. The ritual will mean you are possessed by a spirit from another world, who will transfer their ability to see into you. You must not be alarmed. You will be likely to see their memories, their sight, and feel like you are them for an instant, possibly. We cannot say for certain. We cannot even guarantee if it will work, or what the after effects could be. Necromancy is a branch of magic I do not like to delve into. It titters on the edge of the dark and can at times carry its deadly consequences, death being just one of a million. I just wanted to offer you a choice. If you don't want to, I will understand.' He straightened a little. 'Consider this carefully, Claudia. Take your time.'

Claudia blinked widely, her dark black lashes closing round her ice-white irises again and again as she processed the information in her brain. It was a lot to take in, so no one in the room could blame her. Hermione finally released the book and placed it quietly on the bedside table. But then the witness started to look round desperately.

'Harry?' she said, 'Are you there?'

Harry came forward and grasped her hand in his, the scene so familiar to that of fourteen years ago. He shivered. 'Yes, I'm here.'

'I need to ask you,' she said slowly, frightfully, 'because I think this is important. This thing sounds risky. Too risky. I want my sight back more than anything in the world, but I don't want to ruin everything. Sirius may not be here, but I still want to prove his innocence. I still want to be there for the trial. I need to be there, or else we have gone through all this together for nothing. Sirius would have died for nothing. Nothing at all.' She sat up a little in her chair and grasped Harry's hand even tighter, her other hand now finding his face and his scar. 'I can wait.' She continued, feeling along the scar tissue. 'I can wait until after the trial until I go through all this. There is no compulsion to do this now. I'll understand if you don't want me to. I can wait, Harry, I honestly can…'

'No,' interrupted Harry, looking more determined than ever, 'you can't. Even if the worst came to reality, it wouldn't be the end. We still have the wand, and Pettigrew himself is enough to disprove Sirius of his murder at the least. But you still top them all. We still need you. But I can't stand here and deprive you of this. Do it now.'

'Harry,' she began, 'Are you sure? Because I…'

'I'm positive. Just do it.' 

'Claudia,' said Arabella finally, a little apprehensive, 'This isn't going to be pretty. This isn't even going to be nice. The only accounts we have of this ritual doesn't make for pleasant bedtime reading. And that's just on wizards and witches. For a muggle there is every possibility that it could be fatal. It's a very complex spell - '

'They always are…' interrupted Ron

'But as the Headmaster said, that doesn't mean it's impossible.' Claudia quickly replied. She took in a deep breath and seemed resolute. 'At least we've got to try.'

Arabella nodded, finally submitting. 'We owe you than much.' She swallowed more firmly and looked at her companions, gathered all around her. 'We owe Sirius that much. Are you all with me?'

Remus smiled and spoke for the first time, taking Arabella's hand and squeezing it slightly. 'We're with you.'

'Lets do it then.' Claudia said.

***

It was dark. It was darker than it had ever been in her life, a shade of black that could have only existed right in the centre of the never-ending abyss as Claudia found herself slipping into the enchanted sleep where the ritual would commence. It couldn't have existed, it was that improbable. It was just too dark. Her blindness had allowed at times the occasional flash of light, the once in a lifetime prompt, subtle hints at regular intervals that something existed beyond the physical barrier that held her back. But now there wasn't. She could have had the piercing eyes of a wild cat spotting the slightest movement in the grasses of the savannah and it wouldn't have made any difference. It was dark, and that was it.

Until suddenly, ever so quietly, she felt something come back to her. It had begun. The soul was infiltrating her very being, possessing her every nerve and vein and setting them alight as the visions came in a flash. It was things she'd never seen before, not her memories or ones that were implanted in her mind all that time ago in the war-like quad. These were fresh. But yet again they weren't her own.

She saw a letter encased in the greenest shade of ink, the parchment old and crinkled beneath another's fingers as they beheld the letter with joy. She felt the steam of a train rush past their youthful face, the vision clouded for a moment as they became engulfed in the clouds. She felt company, sitting with the unknown's companions as they raced to a destination. The destination. The running of padded feet, the danger and the trust. All these sights came in a rush, like a speeding bullet they pierced her receptive brain until she could bear them no longer. They weren't hers. She didn't want them, they felt wrong to be hers sitting in her subconscious, as if she'd stolen them from someone more deserving, someone who didn't deserve to lose them like this, give them up just to give her something back. But he didn't want them back. He was giving them up, for her. The struggle was horrible, wanting her to scream. She did in fact scream. Then there was the pain, like a layer of skin was being prised off her eyelids and exposing them to the same deadly light that damaged them in the first place. It was as if it was extracting out the very cells that held them all together, making them burst and cause such unforeseen damage she felt her heart perish with the thought. Sirius…

Then it stopped. All of a sudden, she felt as if she'd left the ground, as if she was floating away into a darkened space with nothing below her and nowhere to reach. She was suspended in a limbo, somewhere between the dark and the light, the glaring beams of the sun she so desperately she wanted to reach towering ahead. She had to reach it. She knew what lay beyond it, and she knew it was what she wanted. There was no choice in it. There never really was. She stepped into the light and knew she'd never, ever look back.

***

'Claudia?' came a voice, as sweet as the dawn chorus. 'Claudia, can you hear me?'

She could, and she nodded her head solemnly, her head still swimming after the out of body experience that was causing every cell in her body to tingle. She breathed deeply.

'Can you open your eyes?'

She wasn't sure. She didn't dare to. Her heart was beating wildly in her chest, every beat demanding an answer, a solution to the question. Did it work? Did it work? She just couldn't ignore it; she just couldn't put it off. She could feel them burning in her head, blistering almost beneath her eyelids as she willed them open, prised them open with her mind as they still refused to co-operate. Then came a voice.

'Don't worry, Claudia,' he said, the youthful worry easily covering up the previous expectation. 'Take your time now.'

Harry may have uttered these words with the utmost sincerity, but the look upon his face deceived him. He could feel a chill spread across his features, all colour draining back from the skin as he watched her, terrified. The sun was rapidly disappearing behind them now, the moon now appearing like a ghost in the twilight. The room was as blood red as the sky and under normal circumstances would have given everyone present a warm, rosy glow. But not now. They were white. 

Harry stood at the foot of the bed, watching the scene unfold as Dumbledore had nodded quietly to Mr Ollivander and both stood back and pocketed their wand, the Headmaster's wrinkled face not giving anything away. Mrs Weasley hadn't been able to stand it, Mr Weasley tactfully removing her from the scene whilst the ritual was being committed, Lucy following close behind. But no such removal for Ron. Instead he stood a little detached freedom the bedside, occasionally biting his lip as an acknowledgement of concern ad Hermione stood close by, absently holding onto Ron's arm as if it was what she always did. It was a natural form of comfort. Meanwhile, Arabella and Remus stood to the other side of the scene, clearly keeping out but muttering prayers deeply underneath their breaths. They all had to pray now. They all had to hope.

Her eyes now gradually eased open.

She blinked. Claudia took a number of carefully measured breaths, as if each one was a gasp of brand new fresh air yet to be tainted with the horrors of the world and as pure of perfection itself. She seemed to look around, not at anything in particular, just at anything the scene in general. It was almost daze like. If it had worked, no one could say either way. 

'Harry…' she suddenly said quietly, edging down her bed a little towards the direction of the voice, 'I…'

But them she paused. The sun outside in a last ditch attempt to stop itself from downing in the oncoming sea of dark, had omitted a beam, a ray of light like an arm emerging from the abyss, which had arched and penetrated through the trees of the wood beyond and now streamed into the infirmary. The room was suddenly filled with an almost holy light, everyone almost gasping in its wake, a little blinded by its unexpected entrance highlighting every particle in the air as it made its swirl-like descent to earth. Harry had his back to the window so wasn't affected by the sun. But Claudia was. She blinked widely, then her pupils dilated down until the whites of her irises nearly look over her eyes. She smiled.

'Sirius is right,' she said warmly, now seizing Harry's hands without him holding them up to her. 'I can see it. You do look just like your father, but you have your mother's eyes…'

Harry for a moment continued to look anxious. 'So it worked?'

'Yes, I think it did.'

And the face of Harry Potter, the first face that Claudia Darlington had seen in fourteen long, tiring years, fourteen years of darkness and dreams, broke into a smile. She smiled. Everyone, for the first time in a long time, smiled. Claudia leaned further forward and pulled Harry into a deepening hug as Ron and Hermione made their way delightfully to the bed. They smiled in muted terms too. 

'Thank you,' she said quietly, finally breaking the embrace.

'Don't thank me,' Harry replied, removing his glasses, rubbing them clean on the sleeve of his shirt and returning back to his nose. 'I think you know who you should thank.'

She nodded and swallowed hard, the feeling of a single soaking tear trickling down her cheek a revelation. 'Sirius.'

And then they all turned to watch the crescent moon begin to rise.

***

A/N: IT'S THE END! 

****

BUT NOT QUITE!

I've got a little epilogue that will be up in a few days, via beta fine tuning type stuff. But I hope you've liked or hated this so much that you want to review. If you think this is a decent piece of fanfiction and want other people to read it, or indeed the opposite, the only way you can let people know is to write a review and let me and the public become aware of your invaluable opinion. There you go, the purpose of reviews, ladies and gentlemen. But no death threats, please?


	15. Epilogue

A/N: Truly the last part

A/N: **Truly** the last part! It's over, I can't believe it! *sniff* (the fact I'd written most of this before chapter seven is totally irrelevant). Anyway, just a bit of winding up and a couple of thoughts to ponder. For the age of the marauder's, I'm going for consistency with the fic here even though it contradicts with recent interviews with JK herself, but oh well. And there's an important author's note at the very end, so please read it! Savour 'til the last... 

Dis: Dis: The universe of Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling, and is used here without her permission. No copyright infringement is intended, and I acknowledge that I have no rights to any cannon characters, settings or events mentioned. I have no intention and no desire to make profit from this piece, as the credit deserves to go to JK Rowling as she invented them and thus owns all rights to them. Not me. Got it? Good. The poem extract belongs to Carol Ann Duffy; taken from 'Prayer' which is the last in the collection called 'Mean Time', published by Anvil Press Poetry. No copyright infringement intended. This piece contains quotes and ideas from the play Hamlet by William Shakespeare. Yet again, no copyright infringement intended. Onwards!

****

The Unknown Witness

__

Epilogue

__

Some nights, although we are faithless, the truth  
enters out hearts, that small familiar pain;   
then a man will stand stock-still, hearing his youth  
in the distant Latin chanting of a train.

****

'Prayer' Carol Ann Duffy

Harry sighed, a mixture of weariness and joy that he was back where he belonged. The carriages were rattling along in their familiar style, bouncing a little on the rough cobble track that led him to the only place he felt he could call home, Ron and Hermione beside him being the only family he'd ever need. The train journey had been quiet, reflective even, interrupted by a couple of games of exploding snap and the witch with the food trolley, Harry bestowing on his friends the typical showers of Chocolate frogs and pumpkin pasties that had become customary of their day long journey to school. But something just wasn't the same. He felt almost sober, a heavy feeling resting in his chest that had been resident ever since the battle in the chamber. It threatened to engulf him even now.

It had been just two weeks since the funeral. Remus had wanted it delayed until Pettigrew went to trial. Claudia's evidence on top of the wand finally confirmed the long overdue truth in a trial that was barely absent from the front page of the Daily Prophet for the entire deadly duration. Sirius' death simply wasn't mentioned. He never got his glory. At least the ministry had woken up now to reality, one of Pettigrew's final acts of betrayal being to reveal the new uprising of his master, who he was horribly aware would never save him now. It was plastered all over his pale, slimy face. It was too late for the rat. In fact the very day dear old Padfoot was committed to the wind on the roaring fire of the pyre, the fellow Marauder had lost his soul. And Harry, somehow, despite all that had gone on, felt he'd lost something along with it. 

It seemed the ultimate unfairness, for Sirius to be at the jaws of freedom only to be engulfed at the last by death. Than was something that would never let him go free. With death, like the rest, he was there for keeps. Ron and Hermione had been in Hogsmeade for the service beside him on that dreary, darkened day. It was a typical English summer, the sun disappearing within two weeks of the month, autumn wanting to make an early entry and already whipping the trees of their foliage. But somehow underneath it all, it had still been a beautiful day. A very quiet service, just Dumbledore, Harry and a few selected others, least of all Remus and Arabella. Claudia couldn't make it. And Harry knew that had pained her beyond words. Hermione had stood there and occasionally squeezed his hand, especially in moments when Harry looked on the verge of total collapse. Ron had at one point placed a gangly hand on Harry's limp shoulder while the boy who lived looked on, lifeless, just like he was doing now. He knew they were simply doing their best, and appreciated it all the more in the face of their own pain. It had been a loss for them too. Sirius at some point seemed a godfather to them all. 

'Harry...' said Hermione softly now as he drew his attention away from the lake they were currently encircling. He looked at her, expecting a continuation of speech, but she declined to take up the offer. Instead she just smiled, lips pushed together in an expression that didn't dictate sympathy or merriment, but some strange sensory in between. Some sense of knowing. But whatever her point, it seemed to quell him a little, never letting her eyes leave his as she settled back down next to Ron. He seemed to take up the mantle.

'Sirius wouldn't have wanted us to be like this.' He said suddenly, his voice piercing the air with the unexpected subject that Harry looked up, startled. Ron was not deterred. 'He would have wanted us to carry on. We're the next generation, Harry...'

'The marauders mark two.' Added Hermione, smiling a little. 'And if we manage to go through the year without blowing up at least one toilet seat, I think he'd be very disappointed.'

'And Fred and George would be dead jealous to boot.'

Harry smiled a little at his friends, the movement of the muscles seeming unfamiliar over the darkness of the summer. But at least it wasn't forced. It came of its own accord, a warmth that spread across his face that eased the heaving moon from eclipsing his fragile heart. He sighed again.

The coaches had stopped, and Hogwarts stood in front of them in its full and fanciful glory. The place just sparkled magic, the events that took place within its walls shaping a society and creating its populace on the way. Hogwarts was magic. With its predictably for the impossible, it couldn't be anything else.

Harry watched the other students emerge from the carriages in twos and threes, looking quite excited at the prospect of the year. How many schools could add that feeling to their talents, he wondered. This school wouldn't let anything get it down. It had got through so much and yet it stood as strong as the day the founders built it, still soaked in a tradition that could never be washed away. And he was certain that the marauders would never have let it lie.

Then suddenly, his attention was diverted. A boy, about his own age, was emerging from a carriage at the end of the line, gripping his wand with some extreme sense of velocity as he sniffed the air uncertainly, almost timidly as if he were afraid it would engulf him too. As if he wasn't used to the sun. Draco Malfoy, alive and remarkably well recovered from when harry had seen him last, pushed back his white blond locks with the other hand, his palm resting for a moment on his forehead as if he was pondering stepping into the unknown. Harry looked at the sight, quite unsure what to make of the individual. Friend or foe, he would have to face it, and so would the youngest Malfoy. 

For then he met his gaze. Draco had brought his water-like grey eyes to Harry's emerald stones, his pointed face not slithering into any particular expression at all. It was blank, as if he was afraid of letting Harry read it depths. They both blinked at each other for a moment, something passing between the two fifteen-year-olds, something so silent and secretive that any physical acknowledgement would have broken a million rules. But Harry knew exactly what is was. An acceptance of the fates. Something so subtle that just a few months ago it would have passed him by. They'd both only just escaped with their lives that night, both reliving it's horrors in the privacy of their subconscious whilst the eye contact remained. But now he had a firm grip, he wasn't going to let it go. He turned back to Ron and Hermione, a renewed sparkle in his eye. It was time to make his godfather proud.

'Moaning Myrtle's toilet,' he said suddenly. 'After dinner, Tuesday?'

Ron grinned as Hermione rolled her eyes.

'You're on.'

And somewhere beyond them, not too far away, Harry somehow knew that Sirius was smiling too.

***

In a location hidden from prying eyes, the most fundamental magic in existence was being harnessed for a task. A task normally held for only trained professionals with a millennia of experience, fusing the substances together to create the most powerful object to their kind. It was dangerous, messing with the fundamentals, calling on the elements of fire, earth, water and air to diverge onto a single source to fill it with the power needed to cast all the spells man could think of. It took time. It took patience. It took all the energy of its creator to concentrate on the wood to fuse the wand together. Even the chosen ones found it difficult. But this wasn't a deterrent for Lord Voldemort.

All he was doing was blending together the splinters of his old wand to create something he hoped was even more powerful. Something he could work with, something that by his side would cause wizards and witches to quiver in fear and beg for mercy merely at the sight of it. He wanted to create chaos. It was what he thrived upon. Without this tool he would forever be paralysed, still weakened by the fact it was snapped in the first place was a fact it had taken him weeks to recover from. It had taken create many days to summon the remnants from the ruin of the chamber, the onslaught of nature held within the cascading rock still not being enough to defeat the dark lord. For he was only prepared to die in combat by someone greater than himself. Sheer will of mind made him survive. And seeming as though he was going to every means to deny that person an existence, the confidence he held in recovery was astounding. 

'My Lord?'

A Senior Death eater, made more noticeable that the rest by a rank only known by Lord Voldemort, now approached the Dark Lord in his sombre state and only timidly dared to come close as the quietly observed his master work. He'd been at it for weeks, and there was plenty more work to be done.

'You summoned me, my Lord?' he said humbly, bowing a little before removing his hood as he was always commanded to do when alone with his master. 'You asked me here to see you?'

'Yes, my servant,' the Dark Lord hissed, his eyes not moving off his wand for a moment as he acknowledged the other's presence. 'I summoned you here for a purpose. Stand back...'

The Death Eater obeyed the command instantly as Voldemort set about pausing his work. The wand was currently bathed a greenish light, little bead light specks tricking slowly along each and every crack gradually fusing together the instrument of destruction. Such magic, such force, could only be used and maintained in this way with supreme power of the mind. It had to have the Dark Lord's full attention, so now came a natural time for pause. He closed his eyes and took a deep rattling breath, concentrating every particle of his being onto the wood to hold it stationary in the air as he pulled his hands away from it. Flames instantly sprung up from the stonework beneath them and licked lightly at the wand, holding it there like a piece of floating driftwood as the white tips of the fire turned slightly green on contact. He turned to face his high-ranking servant.

'It is apparent we have a traitor in our midst.' Voldemort said quietly, his anger silently detained as he watched the flames engulf the selected wood as it spun silently in mid air without him. The fusion of sparks fell unnoticed to the floor. 'That much was obvious before. They could not have escaped otherwise, it simply wasn't possible. An unknown entity is trying to destroy us from the inside out. This simply will not do. I will not tolerate such deception.' He focused on his servant for a moment, who could have sworn the eyes of Lord Voldemort seemed to flash a deeper red than before. The eyes narrowed into slits as he continued with his request. 'I trust that you will take care of it?'

'I will make it my life's work, my Lord.' Replied Lucius Malfoy instantly.

'Then let it be so. Dismissed.'

***

A year had passed now, and the leaves were beginning to turn again when Remus Lupin set out to the Whomping Willow to pay tribute one last time to his friend. When he went to face his demons. When he went to say goodbye. 

The Willow was still there, as deadly as ever, its branches swaying in the late summer breeze but carrying itself just that little bit further of its own aggressive accord. This tree had been the centre of everything, the centre of his life and keeper of his mortality. It was his guardian. He was almost a prisoner of it, the deep set roots likes bars on a cage that still came no where near the hell that was Azkaban. Or the hell that Sirius went through. All that for the sake of a friend. There was no justice.

His memorial was situated right under the hangings, and Remus had to get a long broken branch to prod the knot that froze the tree still. But there it was. Sirius Black. 1955-1995. The Marauders will cause mayhem in heaven. The words were engraved into a small, rectangular slate of marble on the ground, a memorial, the letters charmed against the threat of decay in the face of the elemental onslaught so forever on the ancient rock. Just like their minds, it would be on there forever. Like they could ever forget.

The tree almost seemed protective of his spirit, its branches lying low across its stone, almost hiding it from the world like a mother holding a child. In the arms of nature now. Remus had to push them aside to lay down the flowers he'd bought down in Hogsmeade. Rosemary for remembrance, Pansies for thought. Daisies for springtime, Rue for himself. And a single, pure white lily. It was the grave of their childhoods, taken long ago. Remus was mourning for them all, for he was the only one left to do so.

He stood for a moment, unsure what to say. Or whether to say anything at all. He felt alone in every sense of the word as the wind ruffled his greying brown hair, hanging unattended around his ears and framing the face of a man completely lost. He laid the flowers down upon the grass, the leaves limping slightly in their paper bouquet and looking dwarfed in the shadow of the tree. He felt dwarfed. He was the last of their number. He was truly alone.

'Remus?'

He turned and then he saw her. The robes she wore floated blissfully round her ankles, almost angel like at she strode toward the tree. It was a simple black, darker against the brightness of the day that seemed to smile unjustly upon the saddest of scenes. Her hair was hanging loose, more silver than before but shimmering a little in the warmth of the sun. She almost seemed to sparkle.

'I would give you some violets,' she said quietly, looking hard at the flowers on the grave. 'But they all withered when my father died.' Arabella looked up into the lines of Remus' face. Then she cast them down again. 'They say it made a good end.'

'Hamlet...' Remus recalled. 'Act four, scene five. The madness of Ophelia. You have a very good memory, Arabella. Very, very good.'

They stood together in silence, just staring at the name and all that was lost along with it. The wind continued to sway the branches of the willow, but with the prodding of the knot they seemed calmer, gentle even as Remus was aware of the leaves brushing softy against his hardened cheek. He shivered. 

'I saw Claudia a while ago,' said Arabella suddenly, breaking the silence as if it were a polite dinner party. 'She's just got married you know.'

'Really?' said Remus, his expression set in stone.

'Yes. About three months ago. An old friend apparently. Everybody but them had seen it coming, she said. She hasn't told him, thought, about all of this. Wants to keep it as a surprise. You would have loved to see her... She was so happy. But they certainly moved fast, catching up for missed time, I suppose. They've even got a little one on the way, would you believe?' When she got no reply, she gave no reaction. 'She asked after you.'

'What did you say?'

She shrugged. 'What do you think?'

He continued to stare at the tree. 

'The world is moving on, Remus,' she said sharply, now turning his face with her hands and looking at him intently. He felt the tears begin to well. 'Claudia included. She's got new things to look forward to, but I know she'll never forget the past. She thinks about him everyday. She told me. She says she'll forever be thankful for the sacrifice he made, for us and for Harry and for her. He gave her back the world, and for that she'll forever be grateful. She will never forget.' 

Remus couldn't say anything, as the words Arabella uttered brought such a well of emotion to his throat he almost couldn't breathe. But yet the sadness lingered, and it was a sight she couldn't stand.

'His sacrifice wasn't in vain, Remus. It was noble. Of course he didn't have to die. Nobody has to die. We have the power to be immortal, through words and memories, poems and stones. But he did. He chose to. No amount of wishing will ever bring him back, for it was his own choice. You need to move on, at least in spirit. I know you'll never move on in soul.' She now found herself gripping his shoulder as he greyed further in grief. 'None of us ever will.' 

'But I just want to speak to him one more time.' Remus muttered, tears now openly streaming down his face. Arabella lowered her hand and let it softly grasp the werewolf's. He paused for a moment, then continued. 'I just want to tell him I'm sorry. I want to tell him how I wish I'd kept the faith, how I wished everything didn't have to turn out so wrong. We were the young ones, Arabella. We were the hope. We were supposed to defeat anything, all four of us together. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs. No fate would ever detain us. Apart from death, it seems.' 

'Do you know what I saw the other day?' she said softly, her voice almost inaudible among the rustle of the trees. 'Do you know what I saw in the woods out there?' he hung his head at her words. 'I thought it was a grim. I thought he'd finally come. And for a minute I was thankful. I believed it to be over, and living had finally got too much. But then I looked again.' Her eyes almost gleamed triumphantly. 'The grim wasn't black. It was white. It was as pure as anything I've ever seen in my life. Ghost-like. It was almost floating as it trotted across the ground, right across the willow here. And you know what was walking along with it?'

He shook his head. Then she answered. 

'A stag.' 

He didn't say anything, for there wasn't any need to.

'You see Remus, the marauders aren't gone. They will never be lost. As long as someone is here to remember, you'll always be roaming the grounds. Just don't forget. That's all they'll ever ask. And I know that's like telling you not to forget to breathe or to eat and to sleep, but sometimes everyone needs reminding. They'll always be with you, just like they'll be with Harry and me. Just don't you ever forget.'

'Like you said,' he muttered, a little smile edging across his lips. 'It'll be pretty hard not to.'

'And I'm here to make sure you don't.' 

And through the haze of tears, she felt herself smiling too. He squeezed her hand right back.

'You know what Remus?' she said in a whisper, almost afraid that the gods themselves would here. 'You know what I reckon? All those things you wanted to tell him, all that was left unsaid. You know what I really think?' she looked at him and felt her heart melt. 'I think he already knew.' 

And as they stood and watched, another scene was just unravelling. A million miles away, a young boy, eyes wide with wonder, was boarding a train that brimmed with excitement at the possibilities its journey would bring. The secrets it would unravel. The happiness it would reward. The boy laughed with all his heart, his best friends right beside him, just like they'd always be. The Latin would forever be chanted, the pain of the truth unknown. For these were once the marauders, and a million miles away they still were, and would wait patiently to be complete. As long as living had faith.

So Sirius was laid to rest.

***

'It's a boy.'

The midwife handed her the child, a moment totally engulfed in a silence that would have previously heightened her isolation in the work of the dark. A world she'd escaped from. 

'He's beautiful,' Claudia whispered, her face a little red from the cold of the early spring beyond, but still lingering ever so close to the infant's own as he wiggled in her arms, his face screwing up in a baby-like yawn as the eyes remained closed and at peace. He really was a beautiful child. What little hair he started out in life with was growing into small spirals upon his head, laying flat with each hair in perfect symmetry. Ten fingers, ten toes, each little fingernail soft and warm to the touch, smelling a fresh as a warm summer's day as she kissed him on the forehead. When she pulled back, he opened his eyes. Tiny chips of sparkling blue, so completely opposite to her own. A picture of what hers used to be, of what used to be and finally was again. Magical. She closed her eyes, her vision absorbing the picture of perfection without a need for a personal prompt. The baby giggled. 

'You're right,' Said her husband, leaning over to give Claudia and the child an all embracing hug. 'He is beautiful. Lucy and Paul are going to be so thrilled...' he paused thoughtfully, a frown interrupting his happiness temporarily. 'We never agreed on a boy's name though, did we?'

'No,' she said, a thought suddenly flashing across her mind as she considered this most minor of problems. She could feel tears stinging the corners of her eyes, threatening to spill down the front of her white gown, a mixture of joy and undue sadness over exactly the same cause.

'Got any ideas then?'

She paused delicately, considering the question. Then it finally came to her.

'Sirius.'

'Sirius?' he frowned a little, pleasantly surprised. 'That's tad unusual, isn't it?' He paused, mulling it over under his breath. 'The dog star. I like it. Where'd you hear it anyway?'

She smiled, closing her eyes as a tear finally ran down her cheek. 'He was just someone I once knew...' 

And as the name of her new born crossed the threshold of her lips, someone out there was listening. And a quill was taking note.

***

****

~* Fini *~ 

A/N :This is going to be my BIG thank you for the entire series for all the people who made the unknown witness what it was for a good four months of my life. It's over! ::Sniffle::

Firstly, thanks from the bottom of my heart to my beta, Kim. She came in half way through the series and helped drastically improve all the technical and bits and bobs I was too dense to spot. And she doesn't mind me emailing her going 'Argh, I'm crap, I can't write for peanuts!' which is exactly what I need. Additional thanks to my emergency peeps who are equally fabulous and wonderful. Once again, you are all superb. I'm sure we'll all beat together something very groovy again in the not too distant future.

Secondly, to all those people who helped me with or without knowing it: To Newington Library for being so damn boring and empty that in between shelving books I finally came up with the time turner thing and escaped the hell of a month of writer's block. And I got paid for it as well. To Keith Fraser for making Metallurgy a real subject and for letting me use his idea of the wizarding education thing. There is hope beyond UCAS. To Mr Vaf my History teacher and choir conductor, for saying such little amusing things I just end up using them in the fic. He's responsible for the Morse code bit, you know. Such a shame I couldn't find space for weak plus wobbly leads to waffle and waste equals catastrophe! To the reviewer who pointed out the Azkaban plot hole and inspired the whole Draco thing... you never knew you did that, did you Nemo? And good luck for your exams too! To Eliza Diawna Snape for the Whomping Willow memorial thing nearly, Shakespeare's flower emporium (Ophelia range) for Remus' bouquet and a variety of scattered quotes. U2 for doing such a cool album, the Beatles for having cool lyrics. Carol Ann Duffy for writing such groovy poetry and my English teacher Ms Jones for letting us study it. Mad mailing lists for keeping me up when everythign else was down. London for just being London, Durham for being Durham, Connex South Eastern for allowing their trains to run over the Medway, King's Cross for being King's Cross and having pretty barriers, the London underground for being so... British... Covent Garden and Neal street for being funky and having the deepest underground station in the capital (I still can't believe I didn't take the lift!), and my legs for aching so bad. That's what kicked this whole thing off anyway.

And my regular reviewers! I love you! I just hope you all keep me on author alert even after I've finished and am struggling for my next idea. You all know who you are, and I must say you've never failed to delight. 

And the final soundtrack ended up being: Coldplay, Travis, Stereophonics, Ronan Keating, Toploader, U2, REM, Dido, Moby, Simon and Garfunkel, Pink Floyd, Robbie Williams, Ministry of Sound's Chill Out Session, Chicane and The Beatles. And if I lacked faith in what I was doing, JK Rowling on Desert Island discs didn't do any harm either. She deserves the most thanks of all. Keep up the good work.

If anybody needs to contact me regarding this series beyond the basic review (Cough!) please feel free to email [athena.arena@virgin.net][1] and tell me about it! Go on, I don't bite. Much. Next idea is already on the way, so simply watch this space...

One last quick note for all you people worried about how Draco actually escaped: Only the main chamber of Voldie's layer collapsed. Draco was, and I quote myself found 'in the dawn' i.e. the next day. He wasn't hurt or anything but emerged as good as new. He'll survive to wear the leather trousers for another day.

Now review please!

athena_arena signing off

xxx

   [1]: mailto:athena.arena@virgin.net



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